Cry a Little, Lie a Little, Die a Little
by Wesfan1234
Summary: Faith reappears in Wesley’s life to bring with her the chaos that he has finally put behind him. (AU after the end of the third season.)
1. Default Chapter

Title: Cry a Little, Lie a Little, Die a Little

Rating: R, for language, adult situations, you know the drill

Pairing: Wesley/Faith

Summary: Faith reappears in Wesley's life to bring with her the chaos that he has finally put behind him. (AU after the end of the third season.)

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Never will. Hail Joss and all that work with him.

Notes: This is an AU after the episode "Tomorrow" season three of Angel. Instead of Wesley sticking around and setting up his own demon-fighting outfit, he leaves Los Angeles. Faith gets out of prison and comes looking for him to help train her to fight. They both get more than they bargained for when a mysterious force comes after the two of them.

Chapter One – Fallen

The rap at the door startled Wesley. No one drove out to where he lived. He was just the lonely hermit that worked in the library. No friends, no family, no life, nothing. Everything had been taken away because of one mistake. That mistake had almost killed him and had created a rift so large between he and his friends, they would never dream of reconciling with him. The child that he had lost would haunt him forever. So he walked away from it all. And landed here, a backwoods town in the middle of nowhere. It suited him fine. To brood in silence was preferable to dying from suffocation.

Wrenching the door open, Wesley paused before saying anything. He couldn't believe his eyes. His glasses lay on the table, scratched and barely used ever since he bought the contacts he now used daily. He had nothing in which to shield himself from the nervousness of the sight before him. Then it kicked in for him, adrenaline flowing through his veins. She was out, and had come to exact revenge, once and for all.

"Hey, Wes. Long time, no see," Faith said from the doorway.

Wesley slammed the door in her face. Just like that, his life changed yet again, for the worse. Why couldn't everyone just leave him be? He had done everything he could to help the helpless and it just wasn't enough. Now it was time for him to rest. Perhaps if he ignored her presence, she would disappear and never darken his door again.

"Come on, Wes. I need to talk to you," Faith continued through the now closed door.

Wesley sighed and then wondered how on earth she had found him. He had covered his tracks well. Or so he thought. If she could find him, then apparently so could Angel. Would he have to pick up stakes and move on, yet again?

Faith pounded on the door, if just to make the anger well up in him. Why should he listen to her? It wasn't like they were even friends, with that torture thing in the background.

"I need your help. Please open the door."

He almost snickered when she said please. The girl had never been polite to him in Sunnydale. In Los Angeles, she had tried to kill him. Now she was asking him politely and saying the magic word?

Picking up his gun, he yanked the door open again and thrust the pistol directly in her face.

"What do you want?" he growled back.

Faith's eyes widened considerably. Backing away slightly, she raised her hands like she surrendered.

"You should put that gun down, Wes. It won't do any good if you blow my head off before you hear me out."

She looked frightened. Well, let her be frightened. For what she did to me, she should very well feel frightened. She could bloody well scream for all he cared.

Calmly, he kept the gun trained on her head. Best to take her down quickly, he concluded.

"Turn around and don't come back," he flatly told her.

Here she had gone and ruined his new home. He had been living in the small town for nine months now, Angel and his escapades in the back of his mind, not taking up as much brain matter as the whole situation once had. The nightmares still made an appearance occasionally, but he was slowly coming back to life. Until today.

"You won't do it. Pull the trigger, I mean."

Wesley moved the angle of the gun slightly and fired.

"Fuck. What kind of shit was that?" Faith yelled back at him.

"Just a warning, Faith. Go away."

Dropping the gun to his side, he started to slam the door in her face. Only she caught it with her foot at the last minute.

"I don't want to fight. Just hear me out," Faith implored him to do.

Wesley lost it. He pressed the gun against her forehead, definitely able at that point to make her go away, for good if need be. But as he really looked at Faith, he could see her shaking literally in her boots. Gone was the swagger of the slayer he knew in Sunnydale. The single tear that escaped as she stood directly in front of him did something to him. Her brown eyes were wide with fear.

"Please, please. I am so sorry, Wes. For everything that I ever did to you. Please believe me. Please."

She was begging him to believe her. Either she was the world's best actress or he had no choice but to believe her. That didn't mean that he forgave her.

"Why? Why are you here?" he choked out, not as unaffected by her plea as he wanted to be.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Great. So she runs to the one person who doesn't ever want to see her again.

"Piss off."

Slamming the door, he timed it so her foot wasn't in the way. Not like she couldn't break it down without much effort. She wasn't going to intrude on his new life. He'd just ignore her and maybe she'd go away.

Sitting down to read, an hour went by with no noise. Luckily, she'd gone back into town and was on the first bus or whatever she was driving and never coming back. He didn't care to see any of them ever again. His neck throbbed with his quickened pulse at the moment. Whenever he became agitated, it hurt like hell.

Looking out the window, he didn't notice any sign of her lurking outside. Good. Perhaps she was just a figment of his imagination. A much too vivid imagination for his tastes.

When he climbed into bed that night, after warding the house against any intruders, Wesley left the bedside light on just in case. He couldn't sleep in the dark anymore. Waking up, not being able to see his surroundings wasn't conducive to going back to sleep. As he drifted off, he tried thinking pleasant thoughts. But what intruded wasn't pleasant at all. All he could dream about was a slayer with a penchant for hurting him.

* * *

Faith lay in the motel room, ready to rumble. Only she wasn't sensing any kind of demon activity. No wonder her watcher chose this place. A lot easier in a town knowing that your services were not needed.

He squicked her beyond belief. He looked wicked nasty, with that beard, faint slash on his throat and the attitude out of hell. She couldn't believe that it was even him. Like some alien body snatcher had come down and taken her Wes away and replaced him with some asshole.

That gun in her face proved her point. When did Watcher Wes start using guns? And was he any good with those said guns? Her ears still rang from the gunshot so close to her head. He could have slipped, damn it.

It was the attitude that scared her the most. Her counselor had suggested that as soon as she was released, that she should track him down and apologize. Well, that didn't fuckin' work out at all. She thought that maybe she had a chance at forgiveness. Hell, Angel had forgiven her for tryin' to shoot an arrow into his back that one time. And for the poisoning. She couldn't forget the poisoning.

So after doing two hundred push ups, she decided that enough was enough. She needed sleep if she was gonna confront the bastard again in the morning. It might do her good if she talked to him in a less personal situation. Maybe invite him out to lunch or something. Talk civil to each other. Only the man didn't look that civil.

But what kept going around in her brain was how he looked now. Gone were the watcher suits of yesteryear. Man, he wore one of those plaid flannel shirts. Jeans that fit just right. She banged her head against the headboard just for that thought. He wasn't what she wanted. But he was what she needed. She needed for someone to kick her ass into gear. And he was the only one to do it.

Her slayer training had gone to shit in prison. She didn't want to be a sitting duck out there when the big bads reared their ugly heads. Her senses had been tingling for the past couple of weeks. At least it let up a little when she rode into this backwater town. Clean as a whistle. Maybe it would help her get her head together, not having to worry about what demons were out there. Cuz the only being she wanted to deal with was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

Wesley felt the pain in his throat before he could do anything about it. Faith stood above him, in that park, holding onto Connor. The bloody knife in her hands, the blood dripping off her, made him want to scream in terror, but he couldn't. He just lay in the cold, damp grass looking up at her.

The scene before him transformed into Angel, holding Connor, as Wesley bled out in the lobby of the Hyperion. The baby screamed as Wesley lay in his own massive pool of blood, knife not five feet in front of him. Angel's head descended, going into vampire face as he finally reached what he wanted, what he craved. Wesley couldn't cry out for anyone to save the baby.

Another scene, all his friends looking at him, watching him as he bled to death in some dark alley, all standing around as he struggled to get up. Gunn sneered at him, pushing him back down to the ground with a large boot. Fred turning her nose up at him like he was dirt for her to walk over. Cordelia, standing over him, looking at him with pity. He didn't want, nor need her pity. Angel's boot connected with his stomach, making him want to vomit on the ground where he lay. The blood loss made him too dizzy to even think about moving now.

Finally, Lilah stood over him, using her phone like she had some kind of news to report. Trying to recruit him, that had been the last straw for him. He finally fled, but not without seeing why she wanted him. The power that she held was enticing to say the least, but she was evil, to the core. He may have dropped to rock bottom, but he wasn't going to go even further under by joining with the evil law firm, even if she was quite good in bed. Once had been enough for him. She smiled his way, tapping her heeled shoe against the ground where he lay. Like she was waiting for him to die, so she could report it to her superiors.

Slowly, Faith came back into view. This time, the dream was different than before. Faith had been crying. He couldn't reach out and comfort her. Lying on the ground, he watched as she said that she was sorry over and over again, until her voice was raw with screaming her apology. It was only when she reached down and picked up dirt, spreading it with the wind, did he realize that she was standing over his grave instead of just watching him die.

Out of the trees, from behind gravestones, almost from the air itself, came horrid creatures in robes. Faith fought and fought, only to be worn down. The knives that the things carried slashed down and over her skin until she was still, dead eyes staring straight back at him. He couldn't help, but could only watch as she died.

"Help me," her dead voice croaked out one last time.

Her screams filled his head until he screamed himself, holding his head until the vision went away. Turning on the hot shower full blast, he stood under the steam until he could actually stop the shaking that had accompanied the dream. It may have warmed him up on the outside, but on the inside, he was still cold as ice.

TBC


	2. Buried Alive

Chapter Two – Buried Alive

Faith lay in the bed, shaking like a leaf. Damn slayer dreams, she thought. Why do I have to get them? Can't Buffy bear the brunt of that curse? The sun started to peek through the curtains of her shabby room. There had been only one motel in the town that she could afford. Her money was running out and fast. If Wesley didn't take her in, train her, she would be on her way to somewhere else. Having a bit of cash would help. Finding a job would be a nightmare, especially since she skipped the whole parole officer thing.

Slowly, she got up from the lumpy bed and made her way to the shower. The water was only lukewarm, but it washed away the grime from the dream, or she should say nightmare. Dying in a dream wasn't her version of a dream. Now she knew why her senses had been on alert for months. Maybe she'd finally see some action.

But first things first. She had to convince the asshole that she was a good bet. He hated her, that she knew for sure. Playing the woe is me card might work, or it might get her killed by that nice gun he carried around. Her next step would be to talk to him on neutral territory. So she'd scope out where he worked, where he shopped, wear him down until he relented. She could see the small flicker of sympathy when she had apologized. That fifty times a day just might make him believe her. Dressing in her best clothes, which consisted of her least rattiest jeans and last clean t-shirt, she shrugged her jacket on and went to find breakfast. They had to have a cheap diner in town somewhere.

* * *

Wesley wrapped his hands around his coffee cup, trying to warm them from the chill that had come upon him since last night. The hot coffee helped somewhat, but he knew until he sat down and analyzed what the dream meant, it would haunt him. Hence the cold feeling in his extremities. The waitress brought him his breakfast, which consisted of one hard-boiled egg and an English muffin. Shopping was on the list to accomplish that evening after his shift at the library. He didn't have to stock much in his pantry, but if the weather changed, he could possibly be snowed in for a longer duration than his food supply would last.

As he ate, he went through in his mind what sources of materials he had in his small library, plus what he could get his hands on easily. It didn't amount to very much. Most of his collection had been in the Hyperion. And he couldn't very well have gone back for any of those volumes when he left Los Angeles. The warning had been very clear. Stick around and he would end up dead. He had taken Angel's threat seriously.

While he mentally made a list of the sources he would go through that night, whom should he spot coming in the door but Faith. One who didn't give in to threats. He thought that his display of anger would have convinced her that he was entirely serious. Looking his way, her eyebrow arched, but otherwise she didn't acknowledge him. She sat at the counter and ordered her breakfast, never looking back over her shoulder to where he sat in the booth.

With haste, he gulped down the rest of his meal and left the amount on the table, leaving as quietly as he could. He didn't count on her raising her mug in mock salute to him as he strode out the door. Getting to work early wouldn't be a bother. Faith was the only thing that bothered him right at the moment.

The library in which he worked was small and not very well stocked. The town didn't have the revenue to build a new facility, so they limped along the best they could. When applying for the job, he thought that they would want someone with a real library science degree. That did not matter, apparently. His degree in linguistics qualified him to work at the reference desk. It paid him enough to live without much extra. He had yet to dig into his savings and that's the way he wanted to keep it. That money was only for emergencies. Living quite frugally the past couple of years made it even easier to live in this town without money.

"Hello, Mr. Pryce," the head librarian, Julie Patten said to him as he came in the back door.

"Good morning, Mrs. Patten."

"You're early," she said, although with no surprise in her voice.

"Yes, my timing seems to be off today. No matter. I need to do some research of my own. Tidy up a bit from yesterday."

Even though she was married with several children, she still batted her eyes at him when he spoke to her directly. The smile that always seemed to break out on her face started to form. He swore sometimes the only reason he was hired was for her to listen to his voice every day.

"If I had more employees like you, I'd be in librarian heaven."

And you would never get any work done, now would you. But he had no time to think about middle-aged horny librarians. He had but one problem to tackle that day – figure out what to do with Faith, since it seemed that she was still around town. The dream must mean something, must be foretelling some kind of battle that might come to pass.

After he booted up his computer, he went to work checking out old sources, but nothing seemed to pop out at him. Most of the information on the Internet wasn't helpful usually. So he tried a few chat rooms, looking for any information that might lead him to the robed intruders. Nothing. He found absolutely nothing. His next step would be to contact the Watchers' Council. No doubt, they would want to know that Faith had been released from custody. Ringing a former fellow colleague up, he heard a disconnect message and no forwarding number. The whole hour of research that he allotted was over. And he found nothing.

So he decided to earn his keep. The library was open for business now. Since it was the morning, all he had to deal with were several elderly patrons and a few weary mothers with toddlers. It became somewhat busier in the afternoon, after the school let out for the day, but for the most part, it was a cushy job. There was no slaying demons, no potentially getting injured, no doing the job without a paycheck. The excitement of his life came when someone needed to learn how to use the Internet for the first time. Otherwise, dullness perpetuated his existence. Which was exactly what he had been looking for.

Reshelving several of the reference materials that a patron had used, Wesley worked his way to the back to check out whether there were loose books that needed to find a home. When he came back around to the front after his rounds, he found Faith, feet propped up on a table, reading a magazine. She only nodded as he passed by.

"Feet off the table," he admonished her in a whisper.

She complied immediately. That shocked him. Faith never complied that quickly. Wonders never ceased to amaze him.

Faith sat in her chair until lunch, then returned an hour later, book in hand. She occasionally looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but otherwise there was no other contact. He certainly did not want to lose his job over her. Around closing time, he watched as she got up from her table, pushed the chair in and gave him a little wave goodbye. It had put him on edge the whole day.

Slowly putting his coat on to leave, he was stopped by Mrs. Patten before he could exit the building.

"Would you like to join us for dinner this evening?" she asked as he gathered his briefcase to leave.

She had asked him several times to join her family, but he always declined. Tonight would be no different.

"Thank you so much for the invitation, but I have to decline."

"Oh. Well, maybe another time," she said, a little hurt in her voice.

Nine months of loneliness. Maybe this was his penance for all the mistakes that he made. He would be lonely for the rest of his life. Not that he would even pretend that it would make up for the heartache he had caused. He hadn't trusted his friends with what he had found. Now he was paying the price, a small price in his mind.

Nodding her way, he quickly rushed from the building before he changed his mind and accepted her invitation.

"So, that's where you work?" Faith said from the shadows.

"I thought that you had gone." He had hoped that she had left. Stubborn twit.

"Can't. I wish that I could. I just can't. I need you."

Wesley whirled around, slamming his briefcase onto the wall beside her head, startling her. Since it was already turning dark from the incoming clouds, she didn't see it flying towards her head. Lucky for her he meant to miss.

"Stay away from me. You don't need me. Remember? You never needed anyone."

"You learn a lot in prison. The one thing that I learned was you can't shut yourself down. Totally what I did. When I came to you in LA, I wanted someone to kill me. Whether it was you or Angel, didn't care very much. You were right about me bein' a piece of shit. My counselor said . . . ,"

"Nice confession, Faith. It doesn't change the fact of what you did to me. It never will."

Faith wouldn't look him in the eyes. "I didn't ask you to ever forget. Not that I can either. I fucked up wicked bad."

"Why are you stalking me? Come to take another pound of flesh?"

Faith's intake of breath said it all to him. That was not why she was here. She backed against the wall, trying to hold in the tears that he could see shining in her eyes.

"I would never hurt you, ever again. Please believe me. It's just, something's up. I need your help."

"You're past helping," Wesley responded to her plea with disdain.

"God, you're just this freakin' crazy son of a bitch now. You don't care."

Wesley picked up his briefcase, done listening to her opinion of him. He couldn't take her assessment of him any longer.

"You're just gonna let them kill me, aren't you?" Faith said as he started to walk away.

That statement stopped him in his tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"Dreams. Those damn slayer dreams. They hurt. Buffy figured out how to defeat them, but I'm not strong enough."

Now he was intrigued. Slayer dreams always meant something. Maybe not what everyone thought they meant, but they always had some meaning. Turning slowly, he watched as she slid to the ground, putting her head in her hands.

"Slayer dreams?"

"Yeah, these guys in robes. No eyes. I couldn't stop them. There were too many of them."

Wesley's briefcase landed on the ground with a thump. His breathing increased as he went over the scenarios in his head. Could she have possibly had the same dream he had? It was impossible. He had never experienced anything like that in Sunnydale. Of course, he wasn't her watcher for very long.

"The robes were red. Eyes looked like they were sewn over with an x."

"Oh, fuck. I'm gonna die. I knew it."

Fatalist. Figures, he thought. Her interpretation of the dream was for it to come true. Slayer dreams didn't always have to come true. They could be just a warning. So why did he share it with her?

"Not necessarily. They don't always come true," he said to reassure her.

"Just my luck. I'm not here to harsh on your mellow, or get on your ass or anything like that. I really don't even want to be here. I just wanna square things with you is all. If I'm gonna die, I need to set things straight."

"We should talk about this somewhere else."

He had noticed as Faith tried to apologize for the millionth time that she was shivering. Her jacket wasn't sufficient for the weather that they were experiencing.

"Yeah, wouldn't want one of your friends to hear about this shit," she joked.

"I have no friends. Makes it easier," he quipped back to her.

Helping her off the ground, he took her hand in his. And he thought that he was cold. Her hands were like ice blocks. This was not what he wanted to do. He wanted to be left alone in his solitude. Faith showing up changed that. He could feel his blood pumping a little more, his brain working for the first time since he translated that damn false prophecy.

"I'm sorry."

"The no friends is entirely not your fault. I need to go to the market. I haven't a thing in the house to eat. I will help you on one condition, Faith."

The look of hope on her face was unmistakable. No one had ever looked at him that way. Even when he researched, finding solutions to matters no one else would have figured out, his friends never looked like that. Like he held their very lives in the palm of his hand.

"That once we solve this, you'll leave and never come back."

Faith nodded in agreement. At least that was a start.

* * *

Not that she wanted to agree to his condition. She didn't exactly want to leave once they figured out her freaky dream. But he at least wanted to help her. How weird was it that he knew what was in her dream though? There must be more to this than she even knew.

But as his blue eyes bore into her when he asked her to never come back, that she would do for him if he wanted. Just to show him that she listened to him, even if it was to never darken his doorstep again.

She sat in his car while he grabbed some grub from the store. He was offering her food too, which was good on the old wallet. She just hoped that he could actually cook.

His touch when he helped her up off the ground warmed her up a little. She'd been cold all day, even to the point where she tried warming up her hands in the sink of the bathroom at the library. It was a no go. Now she was warming up a little. No one had touched her in so long. In that simple, brief touch, she had noticed how callused his hand was, how strong the hand could be, how long his fingers were. Shit, slayers were supposed to be observant. But this was a little excessive.

He returned a few moments later, loaded down with food. The breeze blew through the car when he opened the door to put the bags in the back. Should have dressed for winter, she thought. Didn't have the clothes though. Shivering a little, she pulled up her legs to try and keep warm until he slammed the door. He quickly got in and started the car, turning up the heat full blast.

"You obviously don't have a proper winter coat, I see."

She almost shot a venomous reply back, but the shivers stopped her short. If she wanted his help, then she'd have to play by his rules. Even if those rules sucked big time.

"Not thinkin' that I'd find you out in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Not exactly where I thought that I would end up myself. I like the solitude."

She'd had enough of solitude in prison. That could possibly be why being alone with him weirded her out a little. She craved being in a crowd, dancing, drinking, losing herself in the mindless wave of people. Here she could lose herself too. Just would be a lot more depressing.

The first fat snowflakes fell around the car as they drove to Wesley's cabin. Reminded her too much of growing up in Boston. Often on the streets with only the clothes on her back, she was now grateful that he was going to feed her. It really sucked when she was roaming the streets with no one to rely on.

"Thank you for uh, you know, doing this."

There. She said it. Saying thank you to him. Her practicing had only consisted of telling him she was sorry.

"I assure you, Faith, that my motivations aren't exactly philanthropic. I also have a stake in the outcome of this."

He wasn't the one dying in the dream. It was her blood that was spilled. Not his. So she wondered what he saw. As Faith went through the dream in her head, over and over again, what she did, what she saw, it finally hit her. What she had been doing right before the guys with no eyes arrived to make her life a living hell.

The heat blowing in her face made her gag. She couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow, couldn't focus. The meaning of the dream came back to her full force.

"Faith, what's wrong?"

She couldn't get any air into her lungs. It was like she was drowning without any water to speak of.

"Faith, you need to breathe," she heard Wesley saying off in the distance.

She felt the car come to a halt, the pressure of the seatbelt across her chest making it all that much more difficult for her to breathe. Wesley reached over and took her shoulders in his hands. Shaking her, she looked into his eyes, trying to say what she had seen. It was like someone had stuffed dirt all the way down her lungs. Like she had been buried alive.

A hard slap came next, but it still didn't help her breathe. Her vision started to darken around the corners. She could still feel Wesley's hands on her, trying to shake her out of whatever episode she was having.

"Faith, I order you this very moment to come out of whatever is happening to you."

As she faded to black, she thought she felt her seat being reclined and Wesley moving over to her. The words I'm sorry tried to come out, I'll do better, You can't die, I won't let it happen, all wanting to surface from her brain. Only nothing did.

Just what he needed, Wesley concluded as he felt for a pulse. Faith having some kind of episode. He knew she was as healthy as a horse before her coma. Maybe there was a condition that had come about since then. Her pulse was faint and she wasn't breathing. There was only one thing he could do.

Pushing her seat back abruptly, he started to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to revive her.

"Come on, Faith. Come on. Fight this."

He wouldn't have her die like this. There was something that they needed to fight. And he would need all the help he could get, even if it did come from Faith.

He checked to see if his efforts were reaching her lungs and it was. So nothing blocked her airway. A couple more breaths and she surged forward, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Don't bury me. I'm alive. No, no," she shouted.

Pinning her arms to her sides so she wouldn't hit him in her fit, he held onto her tight until her breathing slowed down somewhat. Loosening his hold, he rocked her back and forth slightly, murmuring to her that it was alright. He didn't know what else to do to calm her.

"Oh, geez. Oh, man. What was that? I couldn't breathe. What was that?" she muttered to him, voice hoarse from the shouting.

"Shh," he told her as he felt her finally relax into his hold.

"Oh, God. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

She was worried about him? When did this change happen? She was never worried about anyone but herself. He never entered into the equation back in Sunnydale.

"I couldn't breathe."

She gripped his jacket tightly, literally curling into his chest. She lay against him for a while, gathering strength, until she sat up to look at him.

"We should, um, we need to, damn. Just drive."

Faith without words. Whatever had put her over the edge, it had also taken her ability to think straight. But Wesley did as she asked.

TBC

Author notes: DarkWes is back. Not so dark that he'd let Faith die on him. Didn't know how many people would like some angsty Wes. He's so much fun to write like this.

Answers to questions:

psychotic chaos-yeah, broody guy; I've never watched Tru Calling; him, slip, no way; I bet Faith's have a hard time hearing the next morning.

I.B. Slackin'-I'm slow is all. You should do an LJ. It's so much fun. And you can do most of it for free.

trecia-Thanks for reading. On the other fic, I just wrote more. You must have been reading my mind. I'll post more in a couple of days. I hated to leave that one undone.

Imzadi-for now, only the two. I'm worn out from writing a million characters.

Thanks to all who reviewed: psychotic chaos, SPIKEANDKELSIE, I.B. Slackin', tp96, Fionabeam, trecia, Tariq, Imzadi and everyone else reading!


	3. Why Can't We Talk It Over

Chapter Three – Why Can't We Talk It Over

"Tell me," Wesley started even before they got out of his SUV.

"Tell you what?" she croaked out, throat a little sore from not being able to breathe.

"What did you just experience, Faith?"

She really, really didn't want to talk about what she saw. Talking was not her strong suit. Put her in front of a demon and it was easy, so easy. Make her explain her feelings, the brain stopped functioning.

Wesley grabbed the bags from the back, while Faith slowly walked up to the cabin door. It wasn't a house, it was a cabin. He was out in the middle of nowhere. The last house they passed was more than a mile away, probably further. Surrounded by trees, the cabin would be cozy if it didn't have that weird Unabomber feel to it. She just hoped that Wes wasn't into any crazy shit.

Breathing in deep, she cleared her mind. The sharp tang of pine assaulted her senses. In Boston, it was either exhaust fumes or the smell of one of her mother's boyfriends. In Sunnydale, it had been Buffy's perfume and the sewers. In Los Angeles, the smell of closely packed bodies swaying to a beat and Wesley as she raked her nails down his back, drawing blood. In prison, it was mildew and sweat. Here, it was clean. That was the only way she could describe it. It felt clean.

"Do you remember?" his voice came from behind her.

Wesley had placed the bags on the porch while he watched her. Always the watcher, she thought.

"Not so much," she answered, realizing if she told him what she really saw, he might freak.

Turning his head to the side, he gave her the I-don't-believe-you look. New look for him. She always remembered the You're-my-slayer-you'll-do-as-you're-told look in Sunnydale. And that look in Los Angeles, you're-a-piece-of-shit look that she would never forget.

"We'll need to do some research on what you do remember," he told her as he picked up the bags and passed closely by her to unlock the door.

He smelled different. Depression linked with hopelessness with a sharp side of loneliness. Why did this have to happen now? She never worried about these kinds of things before. The heightening of senses was just one of those things she took for granted being a slayer. Why were these new, extra sensitivities coming out now?

He left the door open for her, not looking back as he casually walked through to the kitchen. Breathing in one more time, she followed, quietly shutting the door.

The kitchen was off to the left, only separated from the living room by a table. It had that log cabiny feel to it. Exposed wood everywhere, small kitchen, ratty furniture with slipcovers. One wall was covered with books. Many of them looked to be really old. Faith almost laughed. Probably brought most of them along with him and didn't have room for the razor. But those books just might save her life this time, so she wasn't judging.

"Faith. Food."

Economy of words for her watcher. The long-winded baby watcher was gone to be replaced by a dark man with piercing blue eyes. Turning to the kitchen, Faith pulled food out of the bags, but didn't know where to put anything.

"Do you alphabetize?" she sniped out.

He gave her a good snarl and jerked the box out of her hand to place it in the small pantry behind him. As he put things away, she watched his movements. Efficient, but it got the job done. Then she looked at what he had bought. Vegetables, fruit, meat, pasta, crackers. No junk food. Shit. Should have put her two cents in at the store.

"I suppose they didn't feed you very well in prison."

"No junk food," came out as an almost whine.

His eyebrows shot up, but he didn't comment. "You're lucky I have anything at all. I usually just sit down to a bowl of canned soup. It'll do you good."

Oh God, watcher mode already. Telling her what to do, what to eat. She'd fucking kill him before this was over. But hey, she might be dead anyway, so she had to deal.

"Yeah, grow big and strong and all that. Not my mother."

"Thank God. What shall we fix tonight? Something easy, so I can take you back to your motel at a decent hour."

Like he was talking to himself. She bet that he did that a lot out here. Who else was there to talk to? Unless he had some kind of girlfriend or something. Nah, he looked wound too tight to have gotten any in a long time. She snorted out loud. Not like she could talk at all. Her dry spell just kept getting longer and longer. Two of a fucking kind.

Wesley picked up some pasta and put a pot on the stove to boil water. He chopped and grated and tossed until her mouth started to water. So, maybe she missed home-cooked meals. The few times she'd had them, they had been special to her.

"You can cook," she said to him as he placed the pasta in the now boiling water.

"I can follow directions. One of the few things that I know how to make. I hope that it will be adequate."

"Fuck, I could eat a tire right now, I'm so hungry."

Wesley looked at her strangely. Like he was trying to figure her out.

"Did you have lunch?"

"Nah. Short on funds. It's alright. Been hungrier than this. I get through."

She didn't want any more sympathy. He got the clue by turning after her confession. Opening a box of crackers, he handed her one while taking one for himself.

"I'm cool."

"You need to eat. If you don't eat correctly, then your strength will leave you if you have to fight for any length of time."

"I deal. No biggie. Don't stress."

It came out a little harsh, but that's just the way her life always was.

"I don't stress, Faith."

She'd love to smack that smug look off of his face, but she kept quiet. The few crackers that she downed made her stomach quieted down a little, but not much. She hoped that he didn't mind having any leftovers, because once she started, she'd have to finish it all.

"Plates," he said as he handed her plates, forks, napkins and all the other stuff that went on a table.

She took the plates and spread them out and put the forks down next to them.

"Like this," he told her softly, showing her where everything went.

"Oh, I knew that," she replied, so not knowing where the freakin' forks were supposed to go.

He brought the pasta with the sauce to the table in addition to a salad and some bread. A meal fit for a king, or in her case, a slayer. She bet that Buffy never had to go without. Her mother would have her sitting down to a meal like this all the time. Faith even had sat down to a few meals like this with Joyce. She wondered if Buffy counted her lucky stars to have a mother that cared.

Digging in, Faith stuffed herself until she couldn't stuff anymore in. Her jeans were a little tight, but that didn't matter. They hadn't felt that way in a long time.

"Buffy's mom sometimes did this for me. When Buffy was around, of course."

Wesley nodded, then got that pensive look on his face.

"Faith, since you've been incarcerated, you, no one informed you that Buffy's mother died. I'm very sorry. She was a lovely lady."

Faith put her hand over her mouth, trying to hold down the meal she just ate. The bile rose in her stomach, making the meal that she consumed taste awful.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I thought that you needed to know."

Wesley bowed his head down, like he was remembering her too. Or maybe his own mother.

"Anybody else die that I didn't know about? Except for you, almost?"

His hand grasped his wicked scar on his neck.

"Buffy died."

Faith didn't react. She figured that one out a long time ago. Those slayer dreams again. "Knew that. But she didn't stay in the ground."

"Indeed. Willow's girlfriend was shot to death, for which she tried to end the world."

"Whoa, go back, go back. Willow had a girlfriend. No, wait. I remember now. Some mousy girl, really shy. Fuck. She tried to end the world? Red, playin' in the big leagues now. Buffy have to spank her down?"

Wesley smirked a little. It must be better than that. "Actually, from what I heard, Xander did the actual spanking."

"You're kidding. Harris? The fuck-up human playing the big hero?"

"We humans can sometimes perform miracles, Faith. Remember that."

"So how'd you get that wicked scar? No, don't tell me. Almost bled out. Kinda figured that out already. As a matter of fact, felt every fucking moment of it."

Wesley abruptly stood up, scraping his chair away from the table. "What?"

"Yep. Wicked dream. Catch the bitch who gave you the necklace? Need someone to teach her a lesson?"

She would do it, just to prove that she had changed. This woman in her dreams, no matter whom she was, she tried to kill her watcher, which in her book, wasn't good. Not that she hadn't wanted him dead two years prior.

"You saw? How?"

"Dunno. You wanna tell me how you knew about the bad guys in my dream?"

Wesley's brow furrowed intensely, like he was trying to access all that information in his big, ole' brain.

"I had a similar experience it appears. Luckily you didn't have any mishaps in prison."

"Nothing to write home about. We braided each other's hair and painted our toenails. What do you think happened in prison?"

Wesley picked up his plate to place in the sink. Ignoring her flippant comment, he grabbed her plate also, making her realize that she was done with food for the moment.

"We should research your bad guys, as you say. Can you draw them?"

"Nope. Only can draw stick figures. Never could do that. You?"

"No, unfortunately. Angel usually . . . ," Wesley said, stopping his mouth from talking.

"I'm thinkin' Angel had something to do with that lovely scar you try to hide under that beard of yours. Am I close?"

Wesley moved to rinse off the dishes as she walked closer to the sink. She hated it when he turned and closed down on her, and she'd only been with him for a few hours.

"I don't think that I owe you any kind of explanation."

"Sure don't. Just curious. Hey, who am I to judge? With me bein' the fucked up slayer and all."

That she believed one hundred percent. She wondered if he still believed that.

"You seemed to have made some progress," he gritted out as he washed the dishes.

"Kinda hard to admit?"

He handed her a drying towel and a dish to be dried. She hated doing the dishes.

"Of course not, Faith. Just an observation."

"Yeah, cuz that's what you do best. Observe, watch?"

Then Faith did the unbelievable. While she had one free hand, she reached up and traced his scar lightly. She never thought his hand could move that fast. Hell, she didn't even see it move. It snatched her hand away, making the dish he held in it go crashing on the floor. Now he looked at her. His eyes blazed because of her actions. She visibly swallowed. Maybe he was fucking crazy.

"Don't touch me," he whispered to her.

His grip was tight enough to cut off the circulation in her hand, but she wasn't going to tell him that. He'd gained strength over the past couple of years. And speed, if she judged by his reaction time right. But she wasn't going to apologize for what she did.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked him, truly wanting to know if it still hurt after all this time.

"Not this time," he ground out, letting go of her wrist.

Faith shook it a little to gain back the blood that he had not permitted to flow through her veins. The cold look he still gave her made her own blood freeze.

"Where's your broom?" Faith said as she looked around for something to get the broken plate up and into the trash.

Wesley pointed, then went back to work on the dishes. He didn't open his mouth again until the dishes were washed and dried. Wesley strode over to his bookshelves and started pulling down old books.

"You said they wore robes? Were they human?"

No, let's go do research. He was right into it.

"Yeah, they kinda looked human. Didn't fight human. Super strong. Wicked with those knives they had. The robes were red, I think."

She sat down on the couch while he kept pulling, opening books, placing them on flat surfaces.

"Did they speak at all? Any kind of chanting?"

"Nothin'. Just attacked me while I was . . . ."

Faith stopped. This was the thing that put her over the edge the first time. Why should she care that he was already dead in her dream? Maybe because it could have been her fault? Or that she was going to join him in a fat hurry?

"What were you doing? Because whatever it was, it cannot be as bad as dying by being slashed to death by robed creatures."

He gave her that serious look. This kind of made her a little ill again.

"Your funeral," she mumbled. "I was standin' over your grave." She said it out loud.

"Which would imply that I had already died prior to your encounter."

He was now scribbling on a notepad. What did he just say? Fuck yes, he was already dead. Didn't that faze him?

"Didn't you hear what I said? You, dead, in the ground. Doesn't that freak you out some?"

"No, not in the least. Besides, Faith, I already knew that part. I apparently had the same, exact dream."

"You had the same dream?" came out a little screechy.

"I believe so. I wasn't watching from my grave, mind you. But I saw what you saw. Is that why you couldn't breathe in the car?"

Oh, shit. She really didn't know why she couldn't breathe. Yeah, she didn't want to be the cause of any more pain for him. Looked like he had already had enough shit come his way.

"Nah. Just kinda freaked. Can't explain it."

Wesley was still scribbling frantically while she just sat there, staring at how fast the man's hand could move as he wrote. Without breaking stride, he handed her a book.

"Look through this one. See if you can find a picture of our sightless foes."

Faith gingerly propped the book on her lap. It smelled funny. Old and musty. Kind of like the library in Sunnydale had smelled sometimes. Lightly flipping through the pages, she saw lots of scary pictures of demons, but by the time she was finished, there was no joy. Nothing matching the description of her assailants.

"Not in here."

"I didn't think they would be."

"Then why did you give me that one?"

"We need to look at all the resources."

Handing her another tome, she flipped through, no success yet again.

"Fuck. This is not working," she said impatiently.

"Faith, research takes time. It may take us days, possibly weeks before we make some progress."

All Faith wanted to do was hit something. Wesley could do the research now that he had a full description. Only he handed her another book.

"I need to make a pit stop. Be back," she bounded out of the room.

"In the back," he yelled as she went down the hall.

Peeking into a bedroom, she saw an old quilt spread on a large bed. A small light by the bed illuminated the room just enough where she could see into it. Tiptoeing, she looked around, curious about how Wesley lived. She never got the opportunity in Sunnydale to see this side of him. It totally smelled like him. His soap, a little toothpaste, a little whiskey if her senses were correct.

She ran her hand over the softness of the quilt. There were no pictures to speak of, only a small book on the bedside table. Turning it over, she saw that it was a book of poems. Otherwise, there was nothing to point her in the direction of figuring him out.

The small closet in the room was open, so she decided to take a look in there too. From what she could feel and see from the soft lighting, mostly jeans, a few pair of khakis, probably for work, and lots of button-down shirts. Several sweaters and a leather jacket. One suit, dark in color. She could still remember the proper suits he always wore in Sunnydale. The ones that made him look so pompous and so above her.

"Faith, what are you doing?"

His voice startled her. The gravely pitch in his voice made him sound like an entirely different person if she didn't look directly at him. Of course, she had already concluded that he wasn't the same person. Not even close.

"Got turned around."

"That's the closet."

"Yeah. Just figured that out. Thanks."

Faith brushed past him as she walked out the door. The slight shiver that she got from him made her curious. Was he still scared of her or something else?

* * *

Wesley spread out his research on every available surface he could find in the living room. Nothing seemed familiar, but he had to check every source he had. Then he would try outside sources. He didn't want to clue anyone in that he was looking into the robed figures. Faith took her time, so he decided to see if some of the papers he had stored under his bed would help. As he walked into his bedroom, Faith stood at his opened closet door, hand running down one of his button-down shirts.

"Faith, what are you doing?"

The question was a tad redundant, since he saw exactly what she had been doing. Snooping through his things. Just her style. He saw her jump a little too, which was a first.

"Got turned around," she answered in return.

"That's the closet," he replied, stating the obvious.

"Yeah. Just figured that out. Thanks."

She brushed past him as she headed to the hallway. Her closeness still made him uncomfortable. He could feel the energy radiate off of her in waves. She was itching for a fight. How long had it been since she slayed? That they would work on tomorrow. Now he needed to get her back to her motel.

"I should drive you back. It's getting late."

"Yeah. Whatever. Not down with the researching anyway."

"I don't have to work tomorrow. So we should be able to get more done."

If he could convince her it would be best to help him. He had a lot of information to look over. He could use a fresh set of eyes. Faith quickly made her so-called "pit stop" and gathered up her thin jacket so they could leave.

As they had been researching, the wind had picked up outside, making the trees bend to the wind. Pulling the door open, it slammed back slightly before he could catch it. Those first snowflakes had turned the landscape white. Luckily he had snow tires, so he didn't think it would be a problem to take her back.

He watched as Faith shivered as she walked out the door. She would definitely have to get a warmer jacket. Seeing her freeze to death wouldn't solve his problems.

"It's fucking cold out here," she groaned.

"It's winter," he quipped back, making her give him the finger. He only chuckled back a little.

"Hey, not entirely dead in there, watcher."

Yes, it had been quite a long while since he even smiled, much less laughed. It felt good speaking with someone, even if that person at one point hated him with a passion.

"Let's go," he commanded.

"Keep your pants on."

They made their way over to the car. Snow blew into their faces, obscuring his vision just slightly. They needed to hurry if he was going to get her back before it became white-out conditions.

"You drive in this shit?"

"Quite often."

She was shivering down to her bones when they jumped into the SUV. He turned on the car with the heat on full again, and made the wipers fly furiously over the windshield. As they drove down the road to get to the main highway, he kept his eyes peeled to the front just in case they came upon any snowdrifts in their way.

"I haven't seen this much snow in so long. We used to get a fuck-load of snow in Boston. Piled so high sometimes, you couldn't walk across the street. The roads would be plowed and the sidewalks would be plowed and they would pile it up until it was like ten feet tall. We had to climb over it just to get to the other side of the street. The plows sometimes came along and trashed someone's car."

England had snow, but nothing like what she was describing.

"School would be cancelled, so we'd go to the hill down the way and slide on cardboard boxes. It was almost like flying. I loved it when we'd all crash at the bottom of the hill."

Sounded like she had some good memories from her childhood. He sometimes thought her childhood was dismal, not unlike his. This kind of fun was never tolerated in his household. He couldn't remember ever sledding down any hill at any time in his life.

"Wesley, deer," she yelled, just before he saw it in the headlights.

He swerved to miss it, spinning on the slick road. He tried to control the vehicle, but ended up slamming into a quickly building snow bank, which must have had something solid beneath it. His chest smashed into the steering wheel with great force, making him wince with pain as the car came to a stop.

"Shit. You OK?"

More concern from Faith.

"I'm fine. We need to get the car out of the snowdrift."

Breathing slowly through the pain, he tried backing it out but it spun the tires even deeper.

"You're just makin' it worse."

"Then get out and push," he growled back, pain radiating from his head to his chest.

Faith pushed the door open, looking back at him to sneer his way. Only her eyes opened wide.

"Fuck. You must have hit the steering wheel hard."

She reached over to brush his forehead. Blood came back on her fingers. No wonder he felt like he had been in a fight. Faith looked down, contemplating just what it meant to have his blood on her fingers again. She started to shake her head no, like she couldn't believe that he had been injured because of taking her back to the motel.

"Faith," he commanded. "You need to see if you can push the vehicle out. Do you hear me?"

"What? I'm sorry. You're hurt. I should help you," came out disjointed from her mouth.

He really didn't need his slayer having another episode over just a little blood.

"Now, before it gets worse."

And before he passed out, which he just might do if she didn't hurry. She climbed out and started to push. The vehicle didn't move. She put her back into it and it didn't budge. Wesley unbuckled his seatbelt and went to join her. He knew she was much stronger than he was, but maybe with his leverage, they could jar it loose.

"Faith, let me help."

"What are you doing out here?"

She looked angry at him. His vision started to fuzz around the edges, making him a little woozy. Hopefully she wouldn't notice his effort to stand upright and attribute it to the slick snow.

"Helping."

Only he didn't make it to the front of the car, slipping on the snow. He fell hard, knocking the wind out of him. His ribs, which were sore from slamming into the steering wheel, now protested even more. And his ankle didn't feel all that well either.

"Shit. Why don't you listen?" he heard her say as she made her way over to him.

Leaning down over him, her hair tickled his nose just for a moment before she moved it out of the way to tend to him. This all was so new to him, having someone tend to him, care about him, if just so they could get away from him.

"We need to get you back in the car. Can you get up?"

"I'm not an invalid."

"You will be if you keep this up."

She was right. His ribs hurt like hell, his head was about to fall off, and now his ankle twinged. Slowly, with her help, he sat up. He clumsily got to his feet, with her steadying force right next to him. She wrenched his door open and literally threw him into his seat. The world was spinning a bit more as he sat and watched her trying to push the car backwards. It finally moved as he put it in neutral. She cheered a little and got back into the passenger side.

"You're not drivin'. We'll have an accident."

Damn girl. She didn't know how much pain he could take.

"I'm fine. Let's go."

As he reached over to drag his seatbelt on, he groaned in pain. That settled that. He panted out as he finally was able to get it to the hole on the other side. Only he couldn't figure out where it was exactly because of the blood dripping down in front of him.

"Stop, you dumbass."

She got out and went around to the driver's side, opening the door. Managing to push him over to the other side, she climbed in and settled herself. How hard could it be to drive, he asked himself? She wasn't going back into town, obviously. He'd need his injuries tended. He smacked into that steering wheel fairly hard. Then he could take her back when the storm subsided.

"You don't know how to drive."

"Uh, no."

"Back up very slowly. Then turn the wheel to go back to the cabin. We'll never make it into town," he told her as he held his aching head in his hands.

A handkerchief had stopped some of the bleeding as he instructed her on how to drive. They made it back in one piece, with a few minor scares along the way.

"Bleeding's stopped," she stated as she turned the car off. "No airbag?"

"No. Never had it replaced the last time it was in an accident." Justine had crashed it not long after stealing it from him.

"Hey, stay right there so I can help you."

There she went again. He didn't need her help. He pushed the door open before she could make it over to him. Putting his feet down on the ground, she caught him as he went tumbling.

"Do you have a freakin' death wish?"

He could see that she still shivered in the cold air. Then he looked down through the gaping of the jacket to see her chest. Now he was really losing his mind. He just thought how soft it would be to lay his head there and rest for a bit.

Faith put his arm around her shoulder, half carrying, half dragging him up the stairs. Digging into his pocket, he felt her hand rummaging around until she found the key. As she pushed the door open, she also flipped on the outside light. He had left the inside lights blazing when they left. Coming home to a dark house wasn't at all appealing to him.

Depositing him on the couch, she ran to the back. His head lulled back against the cushions, wanting to just rest for a moment. It seemed like she took an eternity to come back with the first aid kit.

"You better not have a concussion."

"I've had plenty of concussions, Faith. This is not a concussion." Faith snorted back at him. "And it's not funny. It bloody well hurts."

"Yep. Sure does."

Faith cleaned up the blood and bandaged his head sufficiently. Taking his shoes off, she examined his ankle. He could see that it had started to swell a little. Her prodding wasn't making it feel all that much better.

"It'll be fine. I just need to put it up."

Coughing a little, he grabbed his ribs at the intense pain it caused.

"You hit your ribs too?" she asked, a little perturbed that he hadn't said anything.

She gently took his coat off and flung it to the floor. Every movement, every time she touched him, he flinched. It wasn't just because she was unpurposely hurting him. No one had really touched him in so long. Her fingers were cold to the touch, but gentle when it counted.

"I gotta pull the sweater off. Unless you want me to cut it off. Probably gonna have to bandage the ribs."

"Do it," he grimaced.

Tugging it from him, she slowly pulled it over his head. He almost cried out in pain, but held it in. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sat back against the couch as she searched for an ace bandage.

"Good," she said as she finally found it. "Sit up."

He rolled his eyes at her attitude. "Bossy aren't we?"

"You aren't always in charge, boss."

"Don't ever call me that again," he growled out.

Faith jumped back at the sound of his voice. He hadn't meant to frighten her. He just wanted her to know that he would never be anyone's boss ever again.

"OK," she agreed slowly.

He sat up as he started to unbutton his shirt. When he got them all unbuttoned, Faith yanked it back and off so she could reach all the way around him.

"Oh, God," she cried.

The look of horror on her face even made him wince in pain. He didn't think about what she would say if she ever saw his scars. Some of which she had inflicted, but more that he had obtained in the last couple of years.

"I did all that?"

"No, Faith. Not all of them. Don't worry about it. It's past," he quietly told her, watching her shake.

"You, I never knew. I am so sorry. Sorry. Please believe me," she cried out.

"I do believe you."

She swallowed as she really listened to him accepting her apology.

TBC

Next: I have no idea. I'm just writing what they're telling me to write. But it'll just be the two of them.

Thanks to everyone who's reading. I'm not gonna reveal who they're looking for just yet. Patience. Please review and enjoy!


	4. Scars

Author notes: This chapter is dedicated to Illyria639. LOL!

And to I.B. Slackin' and psychotic chaos—love you guys, keep it coming

To LoganAlpha30—me, mushy, nah. I'm the queen of mush. It's so hard to resist. Not too mushy. You have one of the mushiest Faith's I have ever seen (it's a compliment). And I love it. I need to read your stuff now!

Chapter Four – Scars

The fifty times a day still wouldn't be enough. That was her goal. To make him sure of her. Why did she care? Probably because he was the one that she had done the most to. Buffy wasn't harmed anywhere near the amount that she had harmed Wesley. He had the scars to prove it.

The scars were nothing compared to the bruises that were starting to form across his chest. Man, he must have hit that steering wheel hard.

"Here, hold this," she told him as she started to wind the bandage in place.

Reaching around him, she pulled tight, but not so tight he wouldn't be able to breathe. Since she'd done this enough on herself, she knew the exact tension she had to create to do the job.

She had to touch him. She had been touching him. No reaction at all. His face was impassive as she pulled and tugged and tightened. By the time she ran out of bandage, her head was swimming. Being this close to him made her a little warmer. Now she had to spend the night with him.

"There's a small room across the hall from mine. Just a bed. I hope that's alright."

"Just need somewhere to lay my head."

"Thank you, for wrapping my ribs."

He wouldn't look her in the eyes. Glancing around the room, he looked at everything but her. Was he embarrassed? She hoped not because of the way he looked. Because other than the bruises, he looked mighty fine to her. Living the clean life had been good to him. She wanted to bang her head on the coffee table just for thinking like that.

She watched as he limped his way into his room and shut the door. The lock clicked right after that.

"So much for trusting me," she mumbled to herself.

Faith cleaned up the mess she had made in the living room and made sure the place was locked up tight. Turning off the lights, she brought a cup of hot cocoa with her to the room. The small light by the bed wasn't even bright enough to see by. As she shucked her jeans, she pulled the covers back and jumped into the bed.

"Cold, cold," she moaned, but the sheets heated fairly quickly.

Faith didn't think that she'd sleep after all the excitement, but she drifted off quickly.

Faith kept wondering why she dreamed the way she did. She certainly couldn't tell the prison counselors what happened in her dreams. They would have locked her up in the funny farm for sure. Vampires, demons, creatures of the night didn't compare to the hell that she put herself through in her dreams.

Faith watched as her life played on a screen, flying by at mach speed. It all bombarded her brain until she closed her eyes so as to not look at how fucked up it all was.

"Look, Faith. Look at the mess you've made," Wesley whispered in her ear.

She opened her eyes, to find him sitting beside her, like he was watching the movie right along with her.

"I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a slayer."

Could she convince him of this?

"You reveled in the fact that you had power over everyone. Power over Xander. You remember him? How you tried to kill him just because he cared?"

Faith didn't want to remember what she had done to him. "I didn't kill him. I didn't want to see him dead. I just wanted him to stop talking, stop acting like he cared."

Faith gripped her seat tightly as she turned to look at Wesley. He looked the way he had in Sunnydale, all suit, polished face and snooty attitude. But the voice, the voice was very different.

"If Angel hadn't stopped you, another dead person on your conscience."

"I didn't want to kill him," she shouted back.

"I guess you saved that for me instead."

The scene shifted to the nightmare that she had almost constantly. She watched her crazy self cut across Wesley's chest with a shard of glass. He grimaced, but didn't give her other self the satisfaction of screaming.

"Please don't make me watch this."

"Faith, you surprise me. I thought that this was your crowning achievement. I know it changed me," he told her as he came closer to her.

This time he was dressed the way he was when she first saw him in Los Angeles, button-down shirt and khakis. But the Wesley standing beside her wasn't cut up, wasn't beaten. She could see her reflection in his glasses as he stood directly over her. She leaned back to look at him and to inch away from his closeness.

"I was messed up. So messed up. I didn't want . . . ," she started.

"If you say you didn't want to kill me, so help me I will . . . ."

"Kill me? Do it. Just get it over with. It's what I wanted then. Just do it," she screamed in his face as he bent over to stare directly in her eyes.

He looked a little crazed to her, so she pushed him back until she could scramble out of the chair.

"Don't you think I wanted to do it? In that alley? Angel . . . ," Wesley continued.

"Stopped you," Faith answered back quietly. "I don't think you had it in you. You're not a murderer, like me."

"No, not like you, but just as guilty. You want to know what I've done? What I've let happen?"

Oh, great, she thought. This dream's not just about her. It's about what he did too.

"I let you escape from the Council."

"You helped me get away."

"I was fired for not being able to handle you."

"To be able to fight evil with Angel."

Wesley morphed into another look, this one haggard, much like he looked that very night, but hair longer, clothes unkempt, eyes worried, looking older than he ever did.

He grabbed her arms and shook her hard. "To end up losing Angel's . . . ."

Wesley wasn't able to finish his last sentence. From behind him came a knife to his throat, slashing across. Blood spurt everywhere, across Faith's face and front, down Wesley's neck, flowing out of him faster than his heart could pump it through his body.

The person behind him was a woman, tall, red hair. The knife that she held looked exactly like the one in her dream about the robed guys.

"Connor," Wesley croaked out before crumbling at her feet.

Faith rubbed at her face, seeing the blood, Wesley's blood all over her. The woman behind Wesley smiled, then morphed into one of the robed figures. Before she could take it down, something shiny flashed before her eyes in a downward motion. Looking down, she saw the same knife that had slashed Wesley's throat embedded in her own chest. Now her blood coated it, along with his. Pulling it out, she threw it at the figure, which melted into the air.

Faith fell to her knees on the ground right beside Wesley. He was clutching his throat, trying to tell her something. Crashing to her side, she faced him as his eyes glazed over, blood still pouring from his wound.

"Don't die," he managed to mouth to her.

The knife must have hit a lung, because now she couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry," she mouthed back to him.

He reached over to grab her hand in his. His was covered with blood, but at that point, they were both gonna die anyway.

"Don't leave me," he mouthed again.

She watched as his eyes started to close. His hand started to slip out of hers and his chest stopped moving.

"No," came out as a screech as his hand went limp. "No, you bastard. You weren't supposed to die."

"Faith, wake up. Faith, it's just a dream."

Faith gulped a huge breath of air and sat straight up in her bed. Her hair was tangled and damp from her nightmare, clothes all askew and sweaty. Wesley sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand tightly.

"It was a dream. Right? Just a dream," she chanted, trying to convince herself of the reality before her.

She collapsed against his chest, earning a grunt. She could hear his heart beating, feel his chest rising and falling, feel the warmth of his body. She hadn't been too late. He only died in her dream.

* * *

On the first scream, Wesley bolted upright in his bed, grabbing his gun from underneath his pillow. Clicking the safety off, he unlocked his door quickly, running into Faith's room. Her body bowed off the bed as her arms reached out for nothing. Putting his weapon into the waistband at the back of his pajamas, he grabbed one of her flaying hands, thinking to bring her out of her nightmare.

"No. No, you bastard. You weren't supposed to die."

"Faith, wake up. Faith, it's just a dream."

Just a nightmare, he thought. She probably had them just as much as he did. Her hand clutched at his like he was her lifeline. She sat straight up in bed, squeezing down on his hand even more. Tears streamed out of her eyes as she took in deep breaths into her lungs.

"It was a dream. Right? Just a dream," she chanted to herself.

She collapsed against his bandaged chest, eliciting a groan of pain. Her hair was damp and wild around her face as he tried to brush it away, to make sure she had truly come out of her dream. He didn't relish her whaling away on him if she was still in some kind of dream state.

Although she felt as hot as a furnace, she still shivered as her sobs started to die down. He hadn't been able to put a shirt on before going to bed, so he could feel every tear that fell. Slowly, the sobs turned into snuffles. Then she did the unthinkable. She climbed into his lap and curled up. A groan of a different kind came out then.

"Faith, you're alright now," he quietly told her.

"I thought you were dead," came out haltingly. "I tried to stop it. I really did."

"You should get off now," he ground out.

Her hands came around him, to get closer to him. Her body went stiff when she felt the gun at his back.

"What the fuck," she growled at him.

She lifted his gun and threw it to the ground, pushing him down on the bed. She pinned his shoulders down hard. The look on her face was one of displeasure.

"You had a gun," she went on.

"Get off of me."

He knew he was saying it, his brain was saying it, but the rest of his body didn't want her to move. She'd figure out quickly that the rest of his body didn't listen to his brain. It had been so long since someone actually touched him, much less climbed into his lap and squirmed.

"Now, Faith," he growled back, hoping that she would take him seriously.

"I told you that I was sorry," came out almost as a whine.

"I know that. Now if you would please," he said, teeth gritted together.

The more she squirmed atop of him, the hotter the room became. He'd forgotten about his ribs, his ankle, his aching brain.

"You need to listen, for once. I never . . . ," she continued like she was having a light conversation with him.

He pushed on her arms, managing to move her back until he could maybe make her understand he meant right that instant. His ribs screamed in protest as he did it.

"Now," he finally shouted at her.

"I'm not done. You," Faith stopped short, looking down to where their bodies were intimately linked. "Shit."

She flung herself off and scooted until her back was against the headboard.

"I'm sorry to have to shout at you. I know your nightmare was traumatizing."

"Why didn't you just say something? You fucking bastard," she shouted back, scrambling off the bed.

"I tried," he countered.

"The gun?"

"I heard you screaming. I thought you were in danger."

Faith stood before him, thin tee shirt and underwear. And there wasn't much to the underwear. Wesley closed his eyes, just to get the image out of his head. He wasn't having much luck.

"I can take care of myself."

"Right. Forgot how well you can take care of yourself."

He gingerly got up and left the room before they could get into a real, full-blown argument. She followed right on his heels.

"What's that supposed to mean? Huh?"

He whirled to take her on again. "I've put up wards on the cabin. I thought that somehow they'd been broken. I thought that you were in danger."

She put her hands on her hips, turning her head to the side. He couldn't, wouldn't look at her like she was. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls, her shirt thin and way too revealing, her legs slender and muscled.

"So that's why you had the gun?"

"Precisely."

"Oh. Thanks, by the way. I just, you just. Oh, fuck it. Sit down, I'll make you tea or somethin'."

She turned to walk into the kitchen, which gave him an unobstructed view of her backside. He flopped down on the couch, holding his ribs a little as he bent over to catch his breath. Holding his aching head between his hands, he focused on one spot on the floor to gather his wits about him.

"Sorry. I was just so freaked because of the dream. And there you were."

"Faith, go put some clothes on," he commanded her to do, for her own good and his.

"What? Oh. Ohhhh. Gotcha. Right," she sighed and headed off to the back room.

He glanced up to see her enter her room and immediately dropped his eyes again. The rest of his body damn well better listen to his brain this time. Thank god she came back with trousers on. He tried to get up as the tea kettle started to whistle, but she waved him away.

"Sit. You need time anyway," she said as she made her way over to the stove.

What on earth did she mean by that, he thought? He knew the answer before he could even find a way out of it logically. Wanting to yell at her, he stopped short because he knew that would just start another argument. It was best to put that out of his mind to concentrate on her dream, not the way she looked without most of her clothes on.

"Here," she said as she brought the teapot over with tea leaves. "You do that. I'll like mess it up or something."

She wouldn't look him directly, her eyes bouncing around the room.

"I'm truly sorry for the way I acted in there. There's no excuse for my behavior."

"Other than you haven't gotten any in like forever."

He slammed the teapot down so hard, hot water sloshed out of it, scalding his hand a little. Gritting his teeth, he looked up at her, determined to explain to her that her actions entirely made the situation uncomfortable.

"I'll assure you, Faith. That was the last thing on my mind."

"Coulda fooled me. Wait, you couldn't. That's what's gotten you into this pissy mood. Ain't good enough for you."

"Not in the least. Can we just drop it?"

"Yeah, we better. Before one of us spontaneously combusts."

He looked at her then, watching as her face colored a little. Faith always says what she means, he thought. Could she have been just as affected by what happened as he was? She couldn't be, he concluded.

"Shut your mouth. You look like a fish."

Wesley clamped his mouth closed, moving to pour some tea. "Would you like some tea, Faith?" he asked, trying to be polite, but it came out angry.

"Sure. Not gonna go back to sleep now."

She tried to comb her fingers through her hair, but she wasn't successful. He handed her a cup and took his up to his face to blow on to distract himself from looking at her.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation."

"About what? How hot and horny you were?"

"Oh, good god woman. That was not to what I was referring. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"So, like you're any great shakes, considering you were the one with the raging hard on."

"If you didn't persist in squirming suggestively on my lap."

"Oh, so it's my fault."

Faith moved closer to him, to the point where they were arguing almost nose-to-nose.

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, no. You're not gonna blame me for your lack of getting laid."

"If you didn't parade yourself about scantily clad."

"You were in my room, buster. Remember that."

"Because you were screaming the house down."

"Fucking nightmare," Faith declared and pulled back to slump against the couch.

"Which we should analyze before you forget what you dreamed about."

"Damn it all to hell and back. Is it always about work with you?"

"Until you don't grace my doorstep anymore, it is."

Faith visibly swallowed and nodded his way. At least he had quieted her. But she didn't look pleased. As a matter of fact, she looked hurt.

"Yeah, right," she replied, placing her cup on the table before her.

"Your dream. What happened that you can remember?"

"I, um, we, um. Oh, fuck. You're gonna be angry."

"Angrier than I am now?" he told her.

"Quit archin' that fucking eyebrow my way. God, did you ever do that to me while you were in Sunnydale or is that some bad habit you developed in LA?"

Wesley relaxed his face a little, not wanting her to notice how tense he still was. But Faith had always been a perceptive girl.

"Faith? Your dream might give us some clues."

"Alright. There was this chick, red hair, slashed your throat while I watched."

If the tension that he was trying to eliminate had disappeared, it now came back with a vengeance. Wesley automatically reached for his throat.

"Justine."

"So that's her name?"

"Yes, it is. Go on."

"Well, after she slashed you, she morphed into one of those robed guys. Then the knife that gave you that wicked scar sailed through the air and caught me in the chest. We didn't have a fucking chance."

"That's all?"

"Yeah, mostly."

Faith wasn't sure that was all, Wesley could tell. But he didn't want to push her at the moment. He just wanted to uncoil the tension that had developed in his gut and was pushing its way out until he wanted to scream.

"You never met Justine before?"

"Nah. Never seen her. She must have been wicked pissed to do that to you."

Wesley closed his eyes, trying to remember why he just hadn't walked away from Justine.

"Who's Connor?"

TBC


	5. How Sweet It Is

Chapter Five – How Sweet It Is

She asked him a simple question, so she expected a simple answer.

"Who's Connor?"

His eyebrows knitted together, pain etched completely all over his face.

"New guy or somethin'? Cuz Angel not in the sharing mode when he came to see me the last time."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Faith had to think back it had been so long ago. Like a lifetime ago.

"Wicked long time. Over a year. Maybe more."

Wesley wouldn't look at her. He focused on the tea set before him. That must be why he and Giles always served tea. Gave them something to focus on when they didn't want to confront what they needed to confront.

"I've been gone for over nine months now. Connor was born four month before that."

"Born? What the fuck has been going on with you people? Babies now?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

That gesture Wesley did right after she told him about the redhead slicing his throat happened again. He grabbed the scar like it would tell him something. Like it was a comfort. Like it made him remember something every time he touched it. How many times had she touched the scar on her stomach?

So Faith propped her feet up on the couch and turned toward Wesley to get the whole story. No wonder Angel had been holding out on her. Must be juicy.

"Connor is, um, Angel's son."

"Oh, shit. Not possible. Doesn't happen."

"It did. Don't interrupt," he asked without much venom in his voice.

He probably just wanted to get the whole story out in one breath, if he took any breaths. He looked like he was holding it for some reason.

"He had a son, with Darla."

"Doubly not possible," she chimed in, knowing exactly who she was.

"Unfortunately, it was possible. The child turned out to be human. Darla staked herself for the child to be born. We took care of him. Loved him like our own. Only there was a prophecy.

"Fuckin' prophecies," Faith mumbled under her breath.

"My sentiments exactly. The prophecy stated that the father will kill the son. All the signs were there. It's just that . . . ," Wesley stopped his story in mid-thought.

"It's just what, Wes?" she said to him softly.

"It was false. I'd been played. Some transdimensional demon falsified the prophecy. Angel was never in any danger of killing Connor."

"OK, tie it up in a neat little bow for me. What does all of that have to do with the wicked scar on your neck?"

"Since I believed the prophecy to be true, I was going to take Connor away."

"You were gonna run. To protect him and Angel," Faith put simply.

No wonder the guy was thoroughly messed up. Something must have gone wrong, she thought. It took time for Wesley to actually open his mouth again. Just as he was about to, the electricity chose to go out. It was pitch black.

Faith could feel Wesley tense up even more right beside her. She could see a little bit because of her supernatural seeing abilities in the dark.

"Candle?" she asked, touching his arm.

Wesley flinched from the contact. Faith held on, not wanting him to freak out even more.

"Um, there's one on the mantel. Matches too. I'll . . . ," he said as he started to get up.

"Nope. You're blind. I can do it."

Faith stubbed her toe on the coffee table, but finally reached the fireplace and took the candle and matches down. Lighting it, she turned it towards Wesley, who sat very still on the couch. His body relaxed somewhat when he finally was able to see. His eyes were big and round, like he was scared of the dark. She remembered what it was like to be scared of the dark so many years ago, before she was a slayer.

"We should have enough firewood until the morning."

Wesley got up to start a fire. Placing kindling and paper into the fireplace, he lit another match and started the paper on fire. Once he got that going, he picked up a large piece of wood, grimacing as he did so.

"No heavy lifting," she told him as she took the piece away from him.

"Yes, doctor."

Faith gingerly placed it on top of the now roaring fire. Wesley poked it for a while, getting his primal urges taken care of by tending to the fire. Faith had burned things before, but never to keep warm. That's what shelters or other guy's apartments were for when she was younger.

"We should get some sleep," Wesley finally spoke up when neither one of them wanted to continue the story.

Faith would get him to open up just a little more in the morning. She really wanted to know Angel's reaction to the baby kidnapping. It probably wasn't good, she concluded. Wesley had squirreled himself away from everyone, so Angel must have kicked his ass out. So much for everyone having redeeming qualities.

"Yeah," she quietly told him, rising from the couch.

She looked back at him as she opened the door to her room. He sat on the couch still, staring off into the flames. He'd sleep by the fire. The look on his face was unmistakable. The dark frightened him. Man, her watcher was really fucked up if he couldn't stand to be in the dark.

* * *

The next morning, it was still snowing big flakes as Wesley opened his eyes. He had curled up on the couch for a time, trying to get warm. Keeping the fire going was a priority, especially if the electricity was going to be out for a longer period of time. It had only gone out once since he'd lived in the cabin, and that was only for one night. With the snow, it might take days or weeks to repair whatever lines might be down.

Sighing, he gingerly arose from the couch, clutching his ribs until he was upright. Placing another log on the fire, he started the kettle on the stove. He stood there, watching the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

"Still snowing?" Faith said from behind him.

He had heard her before she had reached the kitchen. His senses weren't totally dead from disuse. He could smell her familiar scent anywhere now.

"Yes, it is. Would you like some tea?"

"Yeah. That'd be great," she said as she sat down at the table.

He still hadn't turned around to look directly at her. He felt he had said enough last night about what he had done. The way she seemed to take the news wasn't pleasant for him. He just wanted her to leave as soon as possible.

"Listen, um, I just wanted . . . ," Faith started.

"Stop. No more questions. You are here for my help. Not my life story."

"All I was gonna say is I'm sorry for all that's happened. You didn't deserve all that shit happenin'. Just sometimes you try to do the right thing and it doesn't work out. Fuck, I should know that first hand."

Wesley slammed his hands down onto the counter, hearing Faith jump at his actions.

"You were trying to do the right thing? When?"

"I, um, tried to be a good slayer. I didn't know how."

"For which I helped you bugger up immensely."

"That's it. No more I'm the fuck up dude from you."

Faith spun him around. Her hair was tangled on her head, the blanket she had wrapped around her half off, and the look on her face incredulous. He could feel the heat of her hand through his shirt.

"Faith, unhand me," he demanded.

"What? Don't like me touchin' you? I'm not gonna bite. I swear. I know I have a lot to make up for. Just give me a chance here."

Angel had given her a chance. And she had finally done the right thing, which was going to jail. Why couldn't he give her that chance? She'd done just as many terrible things to Angel as she'd done to him. But she still hadn't let him go like he'd asked.

Faith relaxed her grip on his arm, gently moving it up and down to sooth him.

"It's just been so long. I'm not used to having someone here. And why am I telling you this?" he replied to her, revealing too much of himself yet again.

The kettle decided to finally boil, saving him from looking down at her any longer. The deep brown of her eyes was still searching his face when he turned away from her.

"Maybe because we're more alike than you'd like to admit. Prison's not exactly a place where they give you hugs every day."

Wesley's hands shook as he prepared the tea for the two of them. Faith started to rummage around in his cupboards, pulling out this and that, until she found some cereal to her liking.

"No big. I won't touch you again. Don't want you freakin' out on me."

"Thank you," he managed to get out.

Was he grateful that she had respected his wishes or that she wouldn't touch him again? He did have to admit to himself that her touches weren't all that unpleasant, just startling at first.

"So, what? Are we researchin' or something today?"

"Something like that," he answered, sipping his now cooling tea.

The cabin had gotten considerably colder, since there weren't any larger logs left to place on the fire. He would have to do some work outdoors so they wouldn't freeze to death.

"Hey, breakfast?" she asked as he put his cup down to go get dressed warmly.

"I'm fine."

"Ha. You're so skinny. You need some fat on those bones of yours."

Both Cordelia and Gunn had tried to fatten him up, but it never worked. He would survive not eating breakfast, just like he had for years. Angel had fixed them breakfast too many times to count. He still couldn't look at eggs the same way.

"Later," was his short reply.

"Now," Faith demanded.

She thrust the cereal box in his hands. Taking a bowl out, he poured a small amount into it and started to eat.

"Dry? In the immortal words of Buffy, I say eww."

Wesley shook his head a little in amusement, feeling that the tone at least was a little lighter now. Putting the bowl down, he made his way to his bedroom and pulled out some work clothes. It was tricky at first since the ribs protested when he lifted his arms to work the sweater over his head, but he managed. He still wasn't quite sure how he was to chop any decent piece of wood though. Bringing his boots with him, he sat down on the couch with a soft thud. Faith was nowhere to be seen. Picking up his coat, he opened the door to the white world outside.

Wesley was blinded a moment from the intensity of the snow on the ground. Since the cabin sat up quite a bit from the ground, the snow didn't reach the door. But it would soon enough if it kept up the precipitating the way it did. Even with the cap and gloves, he was still invariably cold. A nice, long hot shower would be in the works after his chores were completed. He found his axe on the porch where he had left it the last time he had chopped wood. He just hoped he could dig enough wood out of the pile to be able to chop some of it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Faith called from the door.

"Close the door. You're letting what little heat we have left outside."

Faith slammed the door behind her.

"I asked you a question."

"And I don't necessarily have to provide you with an answer. But if you must know, I need to chop some firewood. Almost out if you haven't noticed."

"Gimme," Faith gestured with her fingers.

"Excuse me?" Wesley indignantly replied.

"You can't chop wood in your condition. It'll hurt like hell. What are you, stupid or something?"

Wesley didn't mean to growl at her, but it came out anyway. She backed off a little, but still held her hand out for the axe.

"Have you ever chopped wood before?"

"Nah. Can't be hard. Not like it's rocket science or something. Just give me the damn axe."

The last statement Faith said was a little forceful, like she was getting quite annoyed with him. Good for him. He liked to try and annoy her at least once a day. He turned the blade around and handed the axe handle side to her. Didn't want her to think that he wanted to injure her in any way.

"Since you're all so ready to slay some wood, let me show you where the pile is."

Then Wesley saw how she was dressed. She'd freeze outside in no time at all. Shucking his coat, he handed that to her also. It swallowed her up as she placed it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured as she started to follow him off the porch.

And he was right. The wood pile was buried, but not so much where they would have to dig too far to get to the wood.

"Hey, didn't I tell you no lifting?" she chided him.

"You have never done this. I was just trying to show you," he spit out. "Fine, do it your way."

Faith, no gloves of course, started pulling out logs from the pile. Quickly her hands turned red from the cold snow. Finally, he'd had enough, so he yanked off his gloves and shoved them in her face.

"Before you possibly get frostbite, take these," he ground out.

"Thanks, Princess Margaret."

She put them on with two quick tugs. They were obviously way too big on her small hands. She even waved them in his face to show him that.

"Man, you must have big hands," she remarked as she lined up the logs to be split. "You know what they say about big hands," she kept going, eyes pointing downward.

Thank goodness his cheeks were pink from the cold. His blush wouldn't show. And he thought he was immune now to her sexual innuendos. He had been around Gunn and the rest of them long enough to get the joke.

"Big heart," he drawled right back, smirking a little.

"You have changed," she smiled back with the axe now in hand. "OK, what do I do? Just hit the thing in the middle?"

Wesley set it all up for her. Ripping the coat off and throwing it at him, she made quick work of the wood she had piled next to her. It would have taken him twice the amount of time to split all that wood. But with one swing, she had the wood split into two pieces.

"You're a natural," he quipped.

She smiled in return. "You just like these slayer muscles. Makes short work of a task like this. Got any more uses for them?"

"Not at the moment," he quickly retorted.

The woman was certainly on a roll with the jibes. She loaded her arms down with as much wood as he could carry in two trips and followed him into the cabin. It took her a few trips to make it back with all the wood she split. As she stacked the last of it, she turned with her hands on her hips.

"There. See? Not totally useless."

"We need more. If it keeps snowing like that, the whole pile will be buried. It will be hard to dig out wood to chop."

He knew he was pushing her buttons. The scowl that he received in return was exactly what he was expecting.

"Why didn't you say we needed more? I'm all warmed up now, inside here."

He sighed in resignation. "Because I couldn't see how much you had accomplished until you had brought in the first load."

"Yeah, right. You just want me to be your pack horse. Bastard."

Faith stomped outside once again, putting even more vigor into her chopping skills. By the time she was done, they had enough wood for the next three days. It all wouldn't fit inside, so he had her pile it by the door on the porch.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" he asked her, probably too smug by the reaction he got next.

"Fuck you, dickwad," she threw back at him.

"You're welcome," he answered in return.

"I'm gonna sit out here and cool off."

He could see that she had her fists tightly held by her side. He had pushed her fairly hard. Which meant her training was woefully inadequate. Although she didn't seem winded, she hadn't taken orders from anyone but prison guards in a long time. Being on the outside and trying to hold yourself together must be a great strain on her, he thought. There wasn't any structure in real life unless one created that.

"Fine," he said as he silently closed the door.

Stoking the fire, he rearranged the logs somewhat before Faith came in and caught him lifting too much. She was turning into a mother hen, which he hadn't expected. By the time everything was to his liking, an hour had passed. Faith still hadn't come in out of the cold. As he peeked outside, the clouds were becoming increasingly darker as the day wore on. Those fat, fluffy flakes could turn into a blizzard. He surely didn't want to be trapped any longer than he had to with Faith, without electricity, no way to get out.

When he looked out of the cabin door window, he couldn't see Faith sitting on the porch steps like he did not twenty minutes ago when he had last checked on her. Where could she have gotten herself off to in this weather? Off in the distance, he got his answer. And it wasn't a good one, indeed.

Racing out of the front door, Wesley yelled at Faith to stop and not move. She curiously looked up at him, bending down to pick something up off the ground where she stood.

"Faith, it's not stable. Come this way slowly," he yelled at her.

"What's not stable?" she asked as he came closer.

"The ice. It's not stable. Not frozen through. Don't move."

"What the fuck? I'll just move slowly."

A crack was heard off to the right as she moved her foot an inch.

"Oh dear," he mumbled. "Stay right there. I'm going to get a rope, just in case. I implore you to not move."

The look of fear in her eyes was clear. She would listen, for now. "Here, catch."

Faith threw whatever she had picked up off the ice. As he caught it midair, he realized that it squirmed a little. It was a warm bundle.

"A cat," he whispered.

The foolish woman risked her life for a kitten. Will wonders ever cease to amaze him? Faith was a softie after all?

"Hurry up," she shouted as the ice cracked again.

Running for the cabin, he yanked the door open and literally dove into the closet, pulling out the rope he had placed in there the week before. He was glad he hadn't just thrown it away. Hoping it would hold, although it was frayed in places, he picked it up. The kitten was deposited unceremoniously on the floor when he had raced into the cabin. It was now exploring the interior with gusto.

Running for the lake, Wesley came to a skidding halt at what he thought was the edge. He could see where one could tie up a boat at the edge, so he looped the rope around the post before throwing Faith the other end.

"Take that and tie it around your waist," he commanded.

She was shivering. It had turned colder and the snow was falling faster. That blizzard that he had predicted was coming in full force. He could see that she had taken off the gloves that he had loaned her, which made it that much harder for her cold hands to tie the rope.

"Walk slowly towards me," Wesley told her as he held the rope tight.

"Fucking snow. I knew there was a reason why I hated it. That's why I hated Boston. Too much snow," Faith muttered to herself.

Unfortunately she had gone quite far out onto the ice. If she had stayed closer to shore, it was frozen solid. There just hadn't been enough cold days to freeze the middle solid. Another crack formed right in front of Faith as she slowly slid her feet across the ice. Then behind her, he saw another large crack forming. If the two met, she would tumble into the frigid water.

"Faster," he egged her on, only she still moved too slowly. "Now, Faith. Go."

The two cracks met just like he had predicted and a hole formed right under Faith's feet, instantaneously crumbling the thin ice into the depths of the lake, taking Faith down underneath the icy water. All he heard was a faint cry as she went under. As quickly as he could manage, he slid and stepped his way as far out as he could. Tugging on the rope, he inched it up. It was fraying a bit more, he noticed. Faith appeared at the ice's edge finally, sputtering water as she emerged.

All she could do was let out a muffled scream before she slid back into the depths of the cold water. Her hands couldn't find any holds to grab. If he didn't get her out soon, she'd die of hypothermia. Wrapping the rope around his waist, he nudged further out onto the ice until he was almost to the hole. Getting down on all fours, he crept out until he could put his hands into the hole. A hand came out and grabbed on, pulling him forward until half of his body went in.

The shock of the cold almost did him in, but he wouldn't let it defeat him. Faith's hands were circled around his tightly as he wrenched himself out of the hole. Faith emerged moments later, coughing up water. Her face and hands were blue, which meant he didn't have much time to get her out of the water and inside. And the ice around him was cracking a bit more. Pulling on her, he finally managed to get her out of the hole. Slowly he dragged her along the ice until he felt safe enough to stand. His knees almost gave out at the effort. He had only been in the water for a few seconds at the most and was affected. Faith had been in there at least a minute.

Her glazed eyes looked up at his as he gingerly picked her up. His ribs protested, but he ignored the pain for the moment. He'd pay for it later, but that didn't matter right then. Faith would surely die if he didn't get her inside and warm.

It seemed to take forever to reach the front door of the cabin. Slamming it open, Wesley carried the now comatose Faith inside to the heat. His skin prickled at the intense heat that he felt as he walked in the door. He kept thinking of the time she had spent underwater. Pushing the door to, he quickly carried her to the bathroom. Setting her on the floor, he yanked her boots off. He proceeded to strip her of everything but her underwear. Turning on the faucet of the bath, he made it tepid. To her it will probably seem like scalding. The bluish tinge to her skin worried him. And the fact that she wasn't awake and shivering. At least she was breathing, he saw.

The shivering he was expecting from her happened to him. As his body became warmer in places, in others it was frigid to the touch. So he stripped down too, to his boxers. Picking Faith up again, Wesley climbed into the water. It hurt at first, but it would help her. Then she started to thrash about, sloshing water over the edge.

"Fuck," she said with obvious pain.

So she started to fight him, kicking and screaming while he tried to hold her down. She jabbed his ribs a couple of times, but gradually the fight left her and she settled down against him. The blue tinge slowly disappeared. Pouring water over her head, he heard her sputter finally. Having her back resting against him, he couldn't tell whether she was awake or not.

"What the fuck happened?" she finally gasped out. "I'm so cold."

"You fell in the lake."

"What lake? All I saw was snow."

"It's there. The snow and ice cover it in the winter."

"Oh, damn. I could have died. Did you get the cat?"

Did he get the cat? In the same sentence as she could have died. It was lucky that he noticed she was in dangerous territory.

"Yes, I got the damn cat," he prefaced with a growl at the end.

"Good," she sighed, laying her head over his heart. "Probably need to apologize for that one."

"I don't think that it's necessary. You had no way of knowing. There aren't any warnings posted."

As he looked down at Faith, he noticed her face was all pink and clean of any makeup, which made her look quite young and vulnerable. It emphasized her brown eyes even more, especially when they were mere inches from his own.

"Still I'm sorry. Thanks for saving my sorry ass."

He didn't know whether to say you're welcome and let it drop or lecture her about saving defenseless creatures from certain doom. But as he looked down at her liquid eyes staring straight back at him, he couldn't say anything. Not even when she lifted her head slightly and placed a light kiss on his lips. She was still cold, but her lips were soft and inviting. His brain went on overload at the sensations. As he had told her before, no one had really touched him in so long; he wondered what it felt like to touch another human being. He missed Cordelia's ministrations to him when he was hurt, Gunn's slaps on the back at a job well-done, even Angel's occasional handshake. And to feel Connor's soft baby skin against his as he slept in Wesley's arms.

He slowly increased the pressure as he felt her lips warm to his. The water sloshed around as Faith adjusted her body to fit directly over his, deepening the kiss much more. His senses were sharp and almost painful at first. Now, he couldn't get enough of her lips on his. When her mouth opened up and invited him in, he pulled her head tightly against his, snaking his tongue past her parted lips to taste.

A furtive meow came from the doorway as the two ground against each other in the now cooling water. In the back of his mind, he knew they needed to stop this nonsense before it went any further. Faith was his slayer, the one who tortured him, ridiculed him, was the reason why he had traveled down the road he was on. But the chance to feel again, to feel alive and be warmed by a human being was not lost on him. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she massaged her strong hands up and down his scalp.

Another desperate sound came from the doorway, this time a little more insistent than before.

"Cat," Faith mumbled against his lips.

That sound broke him out of his revelry. Faith was kissing him, grinding against him, making him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time. It had to stop.

"Faith, stop," he said as he tried to pry her off of him.

"Huh?" she replied, kissing his face and neck desperately.

"This isn't right. You must stop," he implored her to do.

"What? Not right?" she asked.

Like she had been struck by lightening, Faith pulled away quickly, sloshing more water onto the floor. Climbing out of the tub, she grabbed a towel and retreated out of the bathroom quickly, scooping up the kitten along the way. Breathing in and out, Wesley was finally able to calm his body enough to stand and get out of the tub. His ribs really did scream in protest at him this time. The black and blue marks were just beginning to make their appearance and would be there for quite some time.

As he stood shakily in front of the mirror, he noticed something he hadn't in quite a while. He could see himself clearly in the mirror now. Sure, he looked much older than he thought he should. But his eyes held a purpose now. And he couldn't let his amorous feelings get in the way. Faith was his slayer, no matter how he looked at it. He wouldn't touch her again, unless necessary. But as he looked down at his shaking hands, he didn't think he would be able to keep his promise to himself. He had liked her touch too much.

TBC


	6. Kiss and Make It Better

Chapter Six – Kiss and Make It Better

Faith was still shivering when she ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. She couldn't believe she had just done that. Kissed him. Kissed Wesley Wyndam-Pryce like she meant it. That stuck-up, prick of a watcher who had made her life miserable. The kitten mewed from its perch on her bed. Taking a blanket off the bed, she wrapped it around her, then toweled her hair off as best she could. Maybe she could go dry it by the fire, take the cat with her for protection. Nothing like a cat to distract you from actually talking about what was on your mind.

The bathroom door was closed as she crept out into the corridor. Placing the kitten on the floor, she sat down in front of the fire, placing another large log on the dying embers. It quickly roared to life again, helping make her body all toasty. Man, she never wanted to be that cold ever again in her life. Running her fingers through her hair, she got as much of the water out of it as possible. It would be a tangled, curly mess in the morning, but it was the best she could do.

As she sat staring off into the flames, the kitten climbed into her lap, turning, turning until it was in a comfortable position. She swore she heard it sigh as it laid its head down on her leg. It obviously liked the warmth of the fire too.

Sitting naked with a blanket around her and a kitten in her lap? Now that was funny. Or ironic. Or something. But the very thing she wanted to erase from her mind kept coming back. Where the hell did Wes learn to kiss like that? Not that she had ever sampled his skills. But, really, the man had definite skills. Must have something to do with talking so much. He really knew how to use that tongue of his. That line of thought was making her warmer. She just wondered what else he knew how to do with that tongue.

This was so not what she had expected or wanted. It just happened. One minute she was shivering from the cold, the next minute she had her mouth all over him. Did she ever have those thoughts about him in Sunnydale? Probably. But she had those thoughts about Giles, Angel, Xander, any male in her vicinity. He was just another pretty face to her. And those suits of his looked so ripable. Too bad she never found out then, because she had nothing to compare with now.

But they couldn't. He was right. It wasn't what they needed. They needed to have a working relationship. Not one based on sex. Still, it was a tempting thing. He was tempting. As she listened to the kitten purr, she knew she'd have to get past that, for her sake. Since he had pushed her away, he obviously didn't want any kind of physical relationship with her. That really suited her just fine or so she tried to convince herself.

Wesley came into the room a few minutes later, startled from her presence by the fire. He had already dressed. His hair was curling at the ends, but his face was still a little red from the heat of their bath. Or maybe the heat of their kiss. She couldn't tell which. She hoped the later.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were out here."

"Cold. The heat source in here. My hair is a bitch to dry."

"Yes," he replied nervously.

She really, really liked it better when he was snarky or angry, not this nervous, stuttery man. The blanket she had wrapped around her dipped lower, down off one shoulder. She didn't notice until she saw where his eyes had drifted. Well, I'll be damned, she thought. He was just as affected by their kiss as she was. And fuck, did his eyes deepen to a beautiful shade of blue when he was aroused.

"I don't have any clothes."

Wes' eyes widened considerably. His mouth opened and closed a few times, nervous as ever.

"I can, um, find you something."

As he started off towards his bedroom again, Faith arose from the floor, showing him quite a bit of leg and dipping the blanket until he could see the swell of one breast. She watched as he visibly swallowed at the sight of just a little more skin. Damn, it sure was fun to play with him, she concluded. And he still acted like he wanted her. Bonus in her book.

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

So she decided to follow him to the bedroom. Standing by the doorway, she leaned up against the doorjamb, waiting for him to pull something out for her to wear. He found some sweats and a long-sleeve t-shirt. Then he threw the t-shirt down and yanked a button-down off a hanger in the closet. Man actually still has some brain cells left. T-shirt would have been much too clingy. That way he could at least not see her nipples through the fabric.

Handing them to her, he nodded. Slowly, she turned to go into her room. Letting the blanket slip a little down her back, she really wanted to see his face. She bet he couldn't take his eyes off of her. As she walked into the room, she let the blanket fall to the floor. The little gasp that came from him was all she needed. He saw her, he was watching her, he wanted her. That's what she wanted to know. She still had it. The problem was did she want to use it.

Slipping on the clothes, she peeked out into the hallway. He had scrammed once he looked his fill. Unbuttoning the shirt until it showed quite a bit of skin, she made her way into the main part of the cabin.

Wesley was bent over in the kitchen, softly talking to the floor it looked like. Then Faith remembered that she had left the kitten by the fire. He must be talking to the thing. The faint smell of tuna filled the air as she looked down at the floor to see the kitten chowing down on the treat. Meal fit for a king. Wesley gently stroked the back of the kitten's head as the thing devoured every morsel in front of it.

"Thanks for feeding it," she softly called out, not wanting to frighten the cat or its benefactor.

Wesley jerked his hand away from the kitten's head, standing up fast. She heard him grit out in pain as he did so. But she didn't want to mention that he might be hurt again. He just might punch her for her concern.

"It was hungry," he simply said.

He turned to put the rest of the tuna in another bowl.

"Why would anyone dump a kitten out in the middle of nowhere?"

"It could have come from the farm down the road."

He wouldn't turn around and look her in the eyes. Was he embarrassed? Maybe she had taken her little skin game too far.

"Still. Looks like it might need its mother."

"It's old enough to survive without," he answered, stirring ingredients into the tuna to make tuna fish sandwiches.

"Yeah, well, like I would know. I had the equivalent of no pets when I was young. How 'bout you?"

Wesley dropped the fork he was using in the sink with a loud clatter.

"No. No pets. Father wouldn't allow that. Said that they wasted precious study time."

"Dude, that's harsh. Mine just couldn't afford it."

"Well, be that as it may, we don't exactly have the provisions to take care of this one."

Wesley leaned up against the counter, still not facing her. It was really starting to irritate her that he wouldn't look at her.

"We'll manage until we can get out of this hellhole."

Wesley dropped his chin to his chest. Faith had enough. He would either tell her what the fuck she did wrong this time or they'd have to throw down. He was irritating her last nerve. So she reached over and touched his shoulder lightly. Spinning around, he grabbed her wrist and yanked hard. God, if he had any more strength, he could have seriously messed up her wrist.

"Don't," he growled back at her.

"What the fuck is your deal? One minute you're almost fucking me, the next minute you act like I have the plague."

"Do you want to see the real me, Faith? Is that what you want?"

He looked scared and scary all at the same time. His eyes looked cold and hard, but his hand was warm and strong. Man of so many contradictions. Something she never saw in him before. Until she had tortured him, that was. The glimpse of this man was there at that time.

"Let go," she urged him to do.

"What? Afraid now are we? Why can't you just do as I have asked? Is it because you always have to push the boundaries? Always have to see how far you can push me?"

Yeah, she had pushed both of them that night she had tortured him. Pushed herself into that insane place where she didn't think she'd ever go. But she had pushed him, and he never broke. She left the breaking to herself.

He yanked her against his body, grabbing her hair and forcing her head back until his eyes were all she could see.

"Now do you see what kind of man I am Faith? Aren't you glad you had a hand in forming what you see now?"

He still blames her, she concluded. He still hates her. She should never have sought him out.

"You're scaring me. Please stop," came out a little high and screechy, but it was the truth.

That look of self-doubt crossed his face again. Dropping his hand from her hair, he thrust her back against the table and slid on the ground before her. Collapsing to the ground with him, she noticed that he was shaking like a leaf.

Was this what she made? This broken man before her? Oh, god, and she thought she was fucked up.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," started to pour out of her mouth before she could stop. This time she meant every word. "I just wanted someone to kill me. You, Angel, it didn't matter. I so wished you would have. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry. I am a piece of shit. I always will be. I just wanted someone to take all the pain away. All of it."

Dammit, then she started to cry. No one had ever seen her cry, except for Angel that was. Now this stupid bastard would see her blubbering up all that had festered in her for so long.

"Please say you forgive me. Please. I just need to know."

She didn't care whether he didn't want her to touch him or not. If she didn't have human contact right then, she might just explode. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his bent legs. He didn't flinch away from her touch, so she laid her head down on his knees. She could feel his breathing slow down a little once she got comfortable. Then his fingers cautiously raked through her curls.

* * *

Wesley couldn't breathe. He almost thrust Faith away again, but she held onto his legs for dear life, like he was a life preserver instead of just a man. His knees now were quite wet from her crying. He had only seen her cry that one time in the alley. That had been for Angel, not for him to see. Now, she couldn't stop.

Was she sorry? She certainly acted like it. He really wanted to believe her. He truly did. And even if she was sorry, would she stay on the straight and narrow? She'd had time to think in prison about all she had done wrong. But was that enough time?

As his fingers lightly raked through her unruly curls, he felt the shudders rack her body as she poured out all that heartache and turmoil through her tears. He knew she'd had a hard life before becoming a slayer. How hard he could never imagine knowing.

So he tried not to think at the moment, just feel. Feel how soft her hair was, how strong and warm her embrace was, how her body felt against his as she snuggled against his legs. He knew that she was trying to seduce him before. That every time she showed more skin, every time she gave him that sultry look, that she was just playing a game with him. And he had taken the bait whole. Faith was enticing to the nth degree. Now was no exception, even though she was probably all red eyed and snuffling. She probably even cried beautiful tears.

Slowly, he worked his fingers to her scalp, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her, relaxing her body into his. Her grip on his legs lessened slightly, at least restoring some of the circulation to them. The full-on sobs turned to little ones, then turning to snuffles, until the torrent that had gone on full tilt had almost stopped.

He admired her for that. She could let go to the point of getting all of those feelings out in the open. She no doubt would feel better in the long run. But would he? She had also done this with Angel. That didn't make Wesley feel special, it just made him available. What else was he to do with her? Another small moan escaped her lips, bringing him out of his musings.

"You have really big feet," she finally said through her snuffles.

He burst out laughing. It had been so long since he had really laughed. Sure, he had laughed that day in Angel's room, right before the earthquake and fire that had proved to him that the prophecy was coming true. But that had been a maniacal laugh, not one of merriment. Since he was just on the edge of insanity at that moment,that definitely wasn't a true laugh.

"Well, ya do."

Raising her head, Faith looked him in the eyes finally. He had been trying to ignore her eyes for the last couple of minutes, knowing that if she saw his, she would see what he was feeling. So he looked down instead, trying to avoid her gaze. In the couple of seconds he really looked at her, he saw the puffy eyes, the pleading look and a hint of playfulness too.

"It didn't occur to me that I did."

"Compared to mine, they're big. I think compared to most guys, they would be big."

Wesley looked down to see Faith's dainty feet peeking from underneath her legs. She had slender feet, actually quite beautiful feet if he had to admit. Just like the rest of her. Then she started to trace around the top of his feet. He jumped and pulled them back away from her.

"You're ticklish. I'll be damned."

Faith's face changed from one of anguish to a little imp. She was contemplating doing something dastardly to him. He just didn't know what.

"I wonder where else you're ticklish."

"I don't think you want to find out," he responded with all seriousness.

"Why not, watcherboy? Not man enough to take a little tickling."

Her hands found his feet again, this time the soles. Wesley then tried to see if she was ticklish since she definitely was trying her best to kill him with tickling. It was only when he poked accidentally underneath her armpits did she start to squirm.

"Don't you dare," she warned him.

Rolling around on the floor like two children, they poked and tickled until Faith called a truce. Both breathing heavily, Wesley plopped down onto his back next to Faith, trying to catch that breath.

"I forgive you," he finally told her.

"What? What did you say?"

"I said, I forgive you. It was a dark time for the both of us. I just wish things had been different between us."

Faith propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. He didn't think she'd have any tears left after her crying jag, but as he saw her eyes go moist again, all he wanted to do was make it all better. That of course was what he was supposed to do as her watcher. Something he had failed to do as her watcher. Making her all better every time she came out of battle injured. Now, it was almost like a battle, a battle of emotions, of wills between the two of them.

"Don't cry," he whispered as he reached up to wipe away the first tear that started to fall.

"Damn it. I'm not sure why you make me do this. Not something I do, ever. You have some magical powers over me, buddy?"

"No. I'm just a depressing sort. Ladies cry over me all the time."

Faith smiled down at him. He thought she was going to kiss him again, when she placed a small peck on his forehead and then sat up. The kitten decided to make an appearance again, climbing directly onto his chest. It started to knead its very sharp claws into his skin before Faith was able to stop it by picking it up.

"Bloody hell. That hurt," he winced.

"She likes you."

"It's a he."

"She."

"A he."

"Wanna look at her plumbing?"

The cat took that as an invitation to flee as fast as it could. That indignity wasn't something it wanted to endure at the moment. Just then, Faith's stomach rumbled loudly, mirroring his by mere seconds.

"I do believe that almost drowning has worked up an appetite."

"I am totally not going near that water again. My bones are still cold. Talk about your life flashing before your eyes."

It was unbelievable that the night Faith tortured him his life didn't flash before his eyes. He truly did not believe he would die that night. There were times when he thought he could be seriously injured. But he had faith that Angel would get there in time, or that he would at least convince Faith that what she was doing wasn't worth it.

He gingerly sat up, realizing that rolling around on the floor hadn't been the best thing for his bruised ribs. He certainly would feel the pain in the morning. Looking out the window, he couldn't tell whether it was day or night the snow was coming down so hard.

"I shouldn't have said that. Life flashing before your eyes. Stupid thing to say. I'll shut up now."

Faith hurriedly stood up, moving away from him. She was even worried about what she would say? If that was the case, then she definitely had changed.

"It's just an expression, Faith. I did not believe you were mocking me in any way."

"Ok, Ok. Um, god, I really could use a smoke. But they're all gone. Shit. What'll I do? I know. Go out in the snow and almost kill myself again. But no. Then you might get hurt. That wouldn't be good. Maybe I'll just stick my head in a snow bank."

Faith babbling? He had never heard her babble. It was a little on the maniacal side, so he knew he had to do something to stop it.

"How about I feed you? I'm sure that your blood sugar is quite low."

"Yeah, food, food. Sounds good."

Pushing himself up off the floor, he stood directly in front of Faith now. Her hair was a wild tangle around her face, hiding most of it from his view. Brushing back a large piece, he then tilted her chin up to look at him.

"We'll eat, then we'll talk. How does that sound?"

Faith slightly nodded her head yes.

"Good," he replied back to her gesture, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

"Beer."

Wesley turned to finish making the tuna fish before the blasted cat found what was left.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have any beer?"

"Yes, and this time you are actually old enough to drink it."

"Not like it stopped me before."

Shuffling through the refrigerator, Faith found what she was looking for. She also pulled one out for him. He sighed as he felt the smooth taste go down his throat. It had been so long since he drank just to taste and to not get drunk. He had been drunk the last six months more times than he could count.

"I kind of would like you to forget what I did. I mean the crying part. It's just the moment. Almost dying. Puts things in perspective."

"Yes, almost dying does put things in perspective. Like who your friends are or aren't, who to trust."

"Whatever went on between you and Angel? It can be fixed, you know. It can't be as bad as you think."

Wesley handed her a sandwich. The topic of conversation was veering straight towards him again. Something he wished Faith would just drop.

"Worse than even you can imagine."

"Was he really that much of a bastard to you?" she asked between bites.

"Yes. As I said, you are so very perceptive. Instead of me getting away with taking Connor, the woman in your dream, Justine, worked for a man by the name of Holtz. Holtz had traveled through time to hunt down Angelus. He wanted to hurt Angel the best way he knew how."

"So that bitch stole Connor from you by slashing your throat."

Wesley sighed, like he was glad that Faith had said it instead of him.

"So you screwed up. Angel realized that. You were trying to do the right thing."

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her. The look of anger and pain that flashed across his face was totally apparent to her. She actually winced at the sight.

"Angel didn't realize that. He tried to kill me."

* * *

Angel would never do that, Faith thought. It wasn't something he did to his friends. Hell, he couldn't even kill her. There must have been more to the story. There always was.

"Damn it," Faith exclaimed.

She started to pace the room, trying to figure out how Angel could have turned on one of his own. He had given her a chance, even after her so-called suicide/torture session with Wes. Even after she had tried to kill him. He still gave her a chance. And Wes was one of his best buds.

"I can't believe he'd give me all those chances, and you not even one. That just sucks. Not fair. When I see him, I'm not gonna be happy."

"Faith, I didn't tell you this to make you unhappy or for you to be on my side. I caused the situation by not confiding in him."

"He should have had you helping to get the kid back. How hard would it be to kidnap a little baby back from some lunatic?"

Wesley got up and tried to leave the room, looking like he'd had enough of her inquisition. But the story wasn't finished or he wouldn't be trying to run, yet again. She stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Tell me what else happened?" she quietly asked him.

"Holtz just didn't kidnap the baby. He took Connor to a hell dimension. Connor came back ateenager. I don't know what else happened after that. Lilah was breathing down my neck and Angel had made it perfectly clear that I was to leave the city."

"What about Cor, and those other people Angel told me about? Didn't they help?"

"No."

"They abandoned you?"

"Simply put? Yes, it seems that they did."

All the puzzle pieces fit together in her brain then. Wes kidnaps baby, loses him, almost dies, gets abandoned by friends, has best friend try to kill him, he leaves in a fat hurry for the hills. She'd done the same thing, running from Sunnydale. Only she'd messed with way too many people's lives in an entirely fucked up way.

"Didn't they know your side? That you didn't do it on purpose?"

"I took that child on purpose Faith. Never doubt that," he glared back.

"To save him, Wes. To save him. And if Angel had been thinking straight, he would have realized that. Maybe he is now, maybe you can talk to him."

"I'm done talking," Wes said with finality.

He moved over to the fire and stoked it some more. Between their heated conversation, wrestling on the floor and the beer, Faith felt quite toasty. By the look on Wesley's face, he apparently didn't. The issues that she brought up for him to live over again probably didn't help. He stared into the fire, until she came over to stand right beside him.

"No talking. I promise. I mean, hey, not one for talking here. It's beautiful, you know."

She saw his head move, to look over at her. But she still looked directly into the fire, like if she did let him see her eyes, he would see right into her soul. Enough of that for one day.

"I know," he swallowed.

"It dances, yearns to break free. But we keep it corralled into this little box to help warm us. When it accidentally breaks out, we curse it because it causes destruction. But when it helps us, makes us not freeze to death, we praise it. I guess that's why it's so beautiful to me. Kind of reminds me of someone."

She then turned to look in his eyes. Not exactly a great idea on her part, she thought. Hell, his blue eyes at that instant kind of looked like the hottest part of the flame. Would she get burned if she moved a little closer to him? As they bumped shoulders, his hand came up a little, touching hers just slightly. She touched him back, winding her pinky around one of his fingers.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear.

"Hmm? For what?"

"Listening to me. You've been the first. And for actually caring. That's a first also."

God, she just wanted to throw him down onto the floor in front of the fire and have her way with him, she was so hot. It wouldn't be fair, she concluded. He needed to set the pace, whatever that might be.

"You're welcome," finally came out of her mouth.

She was too busy still looking into his eyes. And as they came closer, she really tried not to close hers. She wanted to see what they did when she kissed him. But as he gently placed his lips on hers, her eyes closed automatically. The sensations he was creating against her lips went everywhere all at once. The softness of his lips, the slight scratchiness of his beard, the warmth that radiated from his body. She just wanted to wrap herself up in him and never let go.

What the fuck, slammed through her brain. Never let go? When had a guy ever been gentle with her? That's probably what it was. But he didn't deepen the kiss, didn't pull her against him, didn't try to grope her breasts, not like it wouldn't be welcome right about then. His mouth was causing this pleasure to race through her body. It was like he was asking permission to touch her just through his kiss.

As she shifted her body to stand directly opposite him instead of beside him, he took his hands and framed her face with them. His long fingers gently stroked her jaw and neck as he slowly painted her lips with his tongue. She immediately complied by opening her mouth to invite him in. Angling his head a little, he lightly stroked her tongue with his, eliciting a groan from her. It came out deep and long from her chest as he performed a miracle. He made her realize that he did care about her. Not about his getting off, getting to the finish line as it were. Did he want another groan? Would it spur him on to something different but as pleasurable as the pressure of his mouth now?

She was afraid to break the spell, if she reached up and touched him. But her fingers were itching for some contact, any contact. It had been way too long since she had touched anyone like this. God, had it been Riley? That must have been it. She didn't have time when she was last in LA, and then prison. No way were any of those bruisers in prison touching her body. Then she'd been traveling around trying to find his ass.

Tentatively, she brought her hands and placed them directly over his. Oh man, hers didn't cover even half of his. He still dueled his tongue with hers, still moved his lips gently over hers. So she must have not done anything wrong. He finally came up for air, breathing heavily. She was breathing just as fast. But the hands didn't go away.

"We should, um, that was, um."

"Don't talk," she implored him to do, inching her hands down his forearms.

The rate they were going, they'd get to the good stuff in a few days. But that didn't matter to her this time. What mattered was what she was feeling. The tingling was making her whole body feel alive and in control, for once in her life. She was in control. She could stop this. So could he. They were in this together. As she gently plunged her tongue into his mouth this time, she got a groan out of him. Her hands finally made their way down his arms to his neck.

He just didn't flinch; he flung her away as she accidentally touched his scar. The beard had hid most of it, but she could see it if she looked closely enough.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she cried.

"You didn't. I just," he started, panting heavily.

So Faith did the only thing she could think of. You get a cut, you kiss it and make it better. The few times her mother had actually done that had made her feel special, loved. So she walked back over to him and dove in headfirst. As her lips touched the scar, he flinched again, but this time he didn't push her away. The beard he had grown made it harder for her to actually feel it with her tongue, but that didn't matter. What mattered was he didn't push her away. Gently tracing the line, she kissed it with her mouth and then her tongue. Wes wasn't breathing and had gone a little stiff, but he let her. The cords of muscle stood out as she tried to make it all better. Finally, she took some skin and sucked a little to see his reaction. A moan of pleasure escaped along with his pent up breath.

Having done her work there, she made her way to his ear, very intent on tracing that also with her tongue.

"All better?" she whispered into his ear.

TBC

Author notes: Sorry I haven't had time to respond to anyone's comments. I thought that it might be better to actually get the chapters done. Nevertheless, I really do appreciate the feedback. I'm hoping to post a little faster now that my health issues have gotten a little better. Thanks for your patience.


	7. Give Up This Fight

Author note: This chapter is definitely rated R for language and sexual situations. So if you are under age, please go somewhere else. This is not appropriate. Just a warning. Thanks to all who have read before. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven – Give Up This Fight

"All better?" Faith asked him.

The shock of her hands, then her tongue on his still sensitive scar was something he wasn't expecting. And he wasn't expecting her to be so gentle with him. All he knew of her hands was the pain that they could inflict on his body. He never associated them with pleasure. His brain was telling him to ease her away from him. The rest of his body told him to take her any pleasurable way he could.

"Not yet," he managed to pant out as her hands worked their way down to the buttons on his shirt.

He could stop this, this insanity. But he was no longer her watcher, she no longer his slayer. They were just two people in need of tenderness. As Faith started to pop buttons off his shirt, his arms came back up to her neck. She shivered as he traced up and down the sides of it with the tips of his fingers.

As each button fell off onto the floor, her mouth followed the gradual opening of the shirt. When she made it to the last button, she knelt in front of him, circling his stomach with her tongue.

"Scar?" she asked as she kissed a particular spot on the side of his abdomen.

"Zombie cops. Gunshot."

Her hands stroked up and down his bare chest as her mouth kept up her kissing of his scars. When she got to the top of his trousers, she stopped and looked up at him. And then smiled that sultry smile that only Faith could pull off.

"Faith, you don't have . . . ," he started to say, only to be cut off by Faith touching him.

Nine months. The longest he had ever gone without some kind of companionship. Sure, Cordelia thought him to be a lost cause when it came to the opposite sex. But for some odd reason, he found that women were attracted to him, at least for one-night stands. They must not have been worried that he would want more than a night of sex and probably thought he was a safe bet for a quick tumble. But never a relationship. He hadn't had a real one since Virginia. Sometimes he felt that she just used him as an escort, and did not see him as a real, honest to goodness boyfriend.

The past months were more about isolation for him than anything. Punishment for all his transgressions. He deserved to be deprived of all the comforts that life had to offer, including a nice, warm body to wile away the night hours. Faith just wasn't some nice, warm body though.

Faith had fueled more fantasies in Sunnydale than Cordelia had. But the both of them were for the most part off limits. Until he found out that Cordelia was of age. Faith was not, so he certainly didn't want to cross that bridge. Also, being his charge didn't make that ever a possibility. So all of his attentions had been focused on Cordelia. That was a big mistake on his part because she was way out of his league. Cordelia was much too straight-laced and untried for his tastes. And she scared the bloody hell out of him.

As Faith's fingers ventured further down, he wondered if he should stop her. It was the now or never scenario right then, he thought. He could stop this and they could go back to being what they needed to be back in Sunnydale: a team. Only it felt too delicious to feel her delicate fingers dip below and her cheek to rub up against him like a cat in heat.

She freed his snap on the jeans he was wearing. Slowly, her nimble fingers lowered the zipper. He sighed his relief as she started to drag his jeans down his legs.

Since he hadn't put on any shoes, it was easy for her to yank the jeans off the rest of the way. Now he stood in front of her with his unbuttoned, now buttonless shirt on and his boxers. Her arms encircled his waist, tightly pulling his body to hers. Reaching down, he stroked her hair, winding her curls in his hands as she rocked back and forth. Her fingers lightly played with his lower back until she suddenly plunged them into the back of his boxers. Her hot hands made his backside even warmer as she caressed and squeezed. Then she gently eased the boxers down.

He couldn't let her do this, he thought. But as she gently kissed him, lips so soft, all thought fled.

"I'll take care of you," Faith whispered. "I'll make everything up to you."

"Bloody hell," he yelled as he suddenly yanked her up off the ground to face him directly. "You are not going to do that just to make up for everything. That's not what this is about."

The look of fear she gave him wasn't exactly what he had counted on. So he plundered her mouth again, trying to bring both of them back to that place where neither could think of anything else. She visibly relaxed when his hands pulled her against him. His hands were now busy unbuttoning the few buttons she had cared to use on his shirt. As he looked down at her, he observed exactly how lovely she really was. But since she had already almost brought him to the brink, he didn't think that he could hold out for the next five minutes.

They both took each other's shirts off at the same time. His hands then worked on the sweats, yanking them down and off in a hurry.

"You are exquisite," he murmured as his mouth descended to her shoulder, hands traveling down to explore her softness.

Faith moaned as his hands roamed. Pushing her back, her legs found the edge of the couch with a thump, making her tumble back. He tripped a little because she hadn't taken her hands off of him. Landing with a thud on top of her, he immediately started to kiss her all over again, hoping that small mistake wouldn't ruin anything. By her actions, he didn't think he had ruined it at all.

"Need you now," she whispered in his ear.

Faith had just told him she was needed him. And here he thought that she had wanted to take it slow.

She was so wonderful. If she didn't slow down her actions, it would all be over much too quickly. Just as his hand started to touch, she squeezed her damn slayer muscles, making him see more than stars this time. He could have sworn he almost passed out.

"Faith," he roared out.

As he slowly came back to himself, he opened his eyes to see that she was crying. And not just small tears of joy. These were crocodile tears, as Fred would sometimes say. Those kinds of tears meant only one thing.

"Did I injure you?"

Faith literally threw him off onto the floor. His ribs protested as he hit with a bang. She was off and running down the hall, until he heard the door slam to the bathroom. Not his swiftest seduction, he concluded. But those slayer muscles did him in. Didn't she realize the abilities she had to make him lose all control?

"Oh, bloody fucking hell," he mumbled to himself.

Here he was thinking about himself. He was certain now that he had not pleased her. The almost blacking out made his mind a little fuzzy. Was this encounter just about her making things up to him? He surely hoped not. He had to talk to her, make things right with her. Faith was the most complicated woman he had ever met. And having sex with her had just complicated their relationship even further. He just hoped that he could figure out how to make the whole situation better.

* * *

Faith turned on the water to the shower, jumping in to scrub off all the smell from Wesley. Damn it, she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have ever decided it would be fun to screw him. Hell, he didn't even know how to seduce her. He just fumbled his way through until he finished. Her body throbbed as she viciously scrubbed. Her skin was flushed pink by the time she finished. Grabbing a towel, she dried herself quickly, since there was no heat in the bathroom, except for the hot steam created from her shower. As she tucked the towel over her, she contemplated going back for her clothes.

As she looked into the mirror, she saw the tears still streaming down her face. Damn fucking jerk. She should have known he just wanted to stick it to her. He didn't even want what she so specially offered.

The knock at the door made her jump a little.

"What?" she screamed.

"We should talk," he said through the door.

"Done talking," she answered as she wiped the remaining tears from her face.

"Faith, I insist."

"Go away."

"Don't be so stubborn, you . . . ," he angrily said through the door.

"You are such a fucking jerk," she interrupted him before he could insult her.

"Open the door this instant, Faith."

"Go to hell."

"Gladly, if you would just open this door, you twit."

"What?" she screeched back.

Yanking the door open, he literally fell into the room. He hadn't bothered putting his shirt back on, just the boxers.

"Faith, I don't want to argue with you."

"Then don't," she ground out.

"You are being a brat at this moment. Do you know that?"

"Oh, you," Faith growled at him as she tried to throw her fist right into his face.

He quickly stopped her fist's forward progress. Jerking her against him, he scowled down at her as he held her fast. She could break free of him and send him flying, but the shock of his actions short-circuited her brain for a moment. He pulled her over to the toilet, where he sat down, settling her across his lap, face down.

"You are so not gonna do what I think you are gonna do?"

His forearm held her down across her back as his other hand caressed her gently. He had total access.

"You're fucking going down once I get up. Do you hear?"

"Keep talking. It'll just add to the punishment."

The first sting was just that, just a sting. Then he put more swing behind it.

"How many times Faith? How many times?"

None of her so-called boyfriends ever got into this kind of kink. Sure, a few had tied her up, but no one had ever spanked her. Figures that this was Wesley's kink. She could feel him against the side of her stomach. Just as suddenly, he decided to make it feel so good by touching her.

"Oh, fuck," she cried out.

"You need this. Just as I needed it. Relax Faith," he purred.

So maybe he did know what he was doing. She didn't think so before. Tugging the towel off, he eased her onto his lap. His attentions made her jerk back.

"I think these are more beautiful than your delightfully reddened arse."

She almost clocked him one, but there was a compliment in there somewhere. Why did she have to find out now how talented he really was? Her skin was all hot from his touching.

"Fuck," she sighed out as he went to work.

His hands ran up and down her back.

"Too much," she wailed as she pulled his mouth away, taking it with her own to slow him down.

"Not enough," he said against her mouth. "Stand up."

It was hard to respond to his request since her brain was so scrambled by his touch, but his gesture for her to get up got through to some brain cell that wasn't totally fucked up. Taking her hand, he led her into his bedroom, grabbing as many blankets as he could. Then he led her into the living room by the fire. Spreading the blankets out, he pointed to the ground.

"I want to do this right," he whispered into her ear as she started to fall to her knees.

He followed her quickly, not taking his hands off of her body. Tomorrow, she would think about what they did. Now, it was all about touching, feeling. As he spread her out on the soft blankets, she wondered how he could be this gentle with her. She had hurt him so badly. The permanent scars she had made were staring her in the face as he joined her on the blankets.

"Close your eyes, love," he asked, kissing each eye until they closed on their own.

She was floating on a sea of bliss as he kissed his way all over the front of her body. Then he turned her over and performed the same thing on the back. Flipping her back over, he slowly kissed up the inside of one of her thighs. When he made her fly yet again, she screamed out his name.

"Fuck, Wes," she thought she panted out about a million times before he raised his head and looked at her, kind of like a predator looking at his prey.

"What did you do to me?" she shakily got out as he made his way up her body.

"You are heavenly," he told her.

Every part of her now was sensitive to him. It was almost too much. She had just decided to tell him to stop and let her recover. He decided that he wasn't done with her.

"Wesley," she moaned back.

"Shh, love. Just let go."

And he definitely wasn't done with her yet. After he showed her again he knew what he was doing, he collapsed on top of her, sort of squishing her, but she didn't mind.

"Mad skills. Definite mad skills. They teach you to do that at that Watcher's school?"

Faith heard a small giggle come from him against her skin.

"If they had, I assure you that I would have partaken of your lovely body much sooner rather than years later."

"You mean you would have fucked my brains out sooner? Oh, did you really have a thing for me back in SunnyD?" she questioned him.

She felt him stiffen a little, and not in a good way. "It would not have been appropriate."

"Well, screw appropriate. You had some wicked action going."

Wesley raised his head to look down at her.

"I, well, um, thank you?"

"Yes, it was a compliment, you jackass. Don't think that I haven't forgotten about that little ole' spankin' you gave me, mister."

"Whatever are you referring to, Faith?" he quipped back.

"My ass, you fuckhead."

"Oh, that. You were being a brat."

And he was teasing her right then. His small smirk said it all.

"Yeah? And you were being a prick. How would you like it if I did that to you?" His eyes brightened at the possibility. "Man, you are fucking kinky, you know that?"

He crushed his mouth to hers, effectively shutting up her next comeback.

"I delight in making you squirm, my dear."

"Fucking save me from self-righteous, kinky Englishmen."

"Only one Englishman, I have to say. Unless you have a thing for an older watcher or say a vampire?"

"Nope. No designs whatsoever. But I do have dibs on making your ass mine."

"Let's just say that I got to yours first and call it even."

As he scooted off of her, he pulled a blanket up over the two of them, cocooning them both so their body heat and the fire beside them would keep them warm for the rest of the night. The small mew of the kitten made her look up, just in time to get a lick of sandpaper tongue on her eyebrow.

"Hey, cat. Knock it off."

The kitten found a small opening between them in the blankets and crawled under.

"Faith, you let that thing under the blankets?" Wesley inquired as he tried to find it as it squirmed out of his reach.

"Me? She's fast is all I can say."

He finally found it and pulled it out, shutting the small hole by tucking the blankets securely around the two of them. The kitten settled for practically sleeping on top of her head for her body heat. As Wesley wrapped her up against the front of him, she wondered when this little fairytale that they had created would end. Would it end with her saying something stupid or him? Or would it end when the real world came crashing back in on them? But right then, she wanted to enjoy his body heat against her back, enjoy one of his hands draped across her stomach and the other hand against her backside as his breathing slowed down until he drifted off to sleep. One of his long legs pinned her down beside him, kind of making it hard for her to even shift a little, much less leave and go somewhere else. So she relaxed into the embrace, knowing for the first time that she could rest without feeling that she had to protect her back. He had it and so much more.

TBC


	8. Are You Happy Now?

Author note: This chapter is definitely rated M (16+)(or R under the old rating system). It contains language, implied child abuse andadult situations. So if you're not old enough to read, please find another great fic on this site. Thanks!

Chapter Eight – Are You Happy Now?

"I'll never forgive you, never. I'll kill you. You're a dead man, Pryce. You hear me? Dead!"

Wesley watched as Angel had put the pillow from the hospital bed over his head, smothering the life out of him. Gunn and the orderlies tugged and finally wrenched Angel away from him, letting him take that needed breath.

Watching it happen to him was all so surreal. He was being suffocated like he had in previous dreams. A bystander, a watcher he was now. He watched as the Champion tried to snuff out his life with a pillow. Oh, the irony. That was all he was. A nobody. No, no one had ever called him a champion. He just picked up the slack, translated prophecies wrong, and generally got himself into trouble at the drop of a hat. Only now he had to get himself out of trouble.

As the orderlies yanked on Angel to leave the hospital room, their white uniforms transformed into red robes, eyes going blank. Gunn's eyes widened as he watched the same transformation. Wes thought he heard a small screech come from Fred. The knife that one of them produced ended her voice for good by slicing through her throat, taking that screech away from her forever. Gunn didn't even have time to react before another knife was driven into his chest, blood spurting out. He was dead before he hit the floor. Angel lashed out, all fists and fangs, standing in front of Wesley's bed, almost like he was trying to defend him. He even managed to take one of the creatures out before a stake found its way into his undead heart. But it didn't come from the red robed beings. It came from the direction of the bed.

His other self arose, grinning from ear to ear, stake clutched between his hands. No, no, Wesley wanted to shout, this wasn't the real Wesley. Never had his dreams been this vivid. All the blood was so red, the bodies so pale looking, the dust still floating in the air. The other Wesley got up from the bed, stepping over the bodies like they were nothing to him. As he strolled out the door, the red robed figure followed him, like a minion would do.

Cordelia appeared from the elevator with her lap dog Groo on her heels. Wesley just smiled, shaking his head at the minion to take care of Groo. Cordelia's eyes narrowed at him as he came closer. The red robed figure drew a knife, taking on the Pylean, making him step back, losing his balance. Cordelia went into a fighting stance, but with no weapons on her person, that would be short-lived. The other Wesley strode over to her, gripping her hair tight in his hands and tugged her so delicate neck, snapping it in two.

"No," he heard a voice scream from down the corridor.

Wesley just wished he could help out the people in his dream. This other Wesley was wrecking havoc, destroying all of his friends in the process. He tried everything to stop the other Wesley, even standing in front of him. But the evil man passed right through him. Wesley turned to see Faith charging down the hall. She wasn't a part of his life back then. Why would she be in the dream now?

The other Wesley just smiled at her. Then he transformed into the Mayor, making Faith stop in her tracks. Behind her, many more minions appeared, blocking off her only way of retreating. Faith stared at the Mayor in front of her, unable to move from the spot. Until it again transformed itself into Buffy. When it did, Faith charged, roaring as she did. As her head came off from someone's sword swing, Wesley yelled until he couldn't any more.

Shooting up from his makeshift bed on the floor by the fire, he breathed in heavily as he tried to look around the room. The fire had died down. Only a few glowing embers were present. Other than that, the room had been plunged into utter darkness.

"Faith?" he gasped out, discovering that she was not beside him.

He scrambled up from the floor, trying to figure out where the Slayer might have gone. Running into a table, he growled, pushing it out of the way.

"Faith," he finally yelled without much dignity.

If he didn't find some kind of light quickly, he knew his mind would start playing tricks on him. That's why he always left some kind of light on, always had a flashlight or candle directly beside his bed. One never knew when the electricity would go out.

"Hey, what's the what?" he finally heard that familiar voice say from the hallway.

"Light. Where's the light?"

Oh, god, he sounded like a small child. As he started to hyperventilate, Faith found a candle and lit it, placing it on the table beside him. He hadn't realized that he was now on the floor, curled up into the fetal position.

"Shit. I am so sorry. I just got up to use the bathroom. I forgot. I am so sorry."

Faith crouched down to his level, wrapping herself around him. As his mind flashed back to the episode in the hospital, he tried to gather his wits about him. It wouldn't do either of them a bit of good if he went off the deep end. She didn't need to know how terrified he really was of the dark. But she could probably form her own conclusions right at that moment.

"I'm OK," he managed to get out.

He realized that he hadn't made it very far. He had collapsed not five feet from their makeshift bed. Faith diligently grabbed a blanket and covered him with it. She then climbed under, wrapping as much of her body around his as she could.

"Just breathe. You don't wanna hyperventilate."

That was exactly what he was doing. His chest tightened up as he closed his eyes to try and calm down.

"I can't breathe," Wesley got out.

"Damn it. You need to pull out of this," she growled back at him, yanking him over until they were face-to-face.

"Don't die."

Not that there weren't other disturbing images in his dream. Not that the lack of lighting hadn't sent him into what he called an episode. As he had watched her engage in fighting the red robed figures, as he watched her get her head sliced off, he knew that no matter what he woke up to, he wouldn't be able to breathe. It had been his alter-ego that had delivered the final blow to her.

"I'm here. Not dead yet," she whispered as she placed her lips against his.

Faith increased the pressure until he finally relaxed into the kiss. Her hands kneaded through his hair as she calmed him to the point where all he could concentrate on was Faith. Slowly, she lifted herself off of him to look down.

"Sorry," Wesley stammered out.

"Hey, no prob."

"I just, there was no light, and I woke up. And I had just killed you. They were after you."

He knew he wasn't making much sense.

"Whoa. Wait a sec. You killed me?"

Faith abruptly sat up, pushing away from him.

"It wasn't me. It looked like me. Then it looked like the Mayor, then Buffy of all people. Then I sliced your head off. That's when I awoke."

"And I thought my dreams were freaky."

Gingerly, Wesley sat up. He was lightheaded from the hyperventilating. As he tried to clear his brain, he looked at Faith. She was trying so hard not to look frightened, but wasn't succeeding very well.

"I, um, had a nightmare."

"No shit. Kind of reminds me of someone I know."

"You didn't have that particular one?"

"Nah. Still pretty freaky."

Placing his head between his legs, he pondered what the dream could signify.

"Thank you for the, um, bringing me out of . . . ," Wesley started to say.

"You were totally freakin' out. I would too if I had just killed you. Which I haven't in a dream. You always seem to do that to me."

Wesley's head shot up at her confession.

"I didn't know."

"Yeah, well. My fucked up brain and all. It's fuckin' cold in here. You be OK if I toss some logs on the fire?"

Wesley finally noticed that he was sitting with a blanket around him and nothing else on. Faith at least had the forethought to put on a shirt before answering the call of nature.

"I am not a child," came out a little shrill.

"Nope. That's for sure," she laughed a little as she got up from the floor beside him.

As Faith stoked the fire, making it roar to life, Wesley crawled over to the bed, blanket wrapped around him like a cloak.

"I'm sorry for that. I normally don't fall apart quite like that."

"Hey, we all have our demons," she said as she sat down across from him.

"When it's light, we'll continue our research. I do believe that the dream I had was some kind of clue."

"You're not a slayer, so why the fucked up dreams?"

Wesley racked his brain for any kind of Watcher explanation. He couldn't remember any Watcher ever writing that he or she had dreams that were quite like Slayer dreams.

"I suppose I could be losing touch with reality."

"Oh, no, no, you don't. If you think you're going nuts, then I'm definitely already to the funny farm and they've strapped me down. Not happening, dude."

Faith just didn't understand. She didn't understand his insecurities, his history, his training, his need to do the right thing that he had been ingrained with since birth.

"Then how do you explain all of this?"

Her look of frustration apparently mirrored his own. Her toes inched over to touch his. He hadn't realized how warm it had become sitting in front of the fire with Faith.

"Dunno. Use that big ole' brain of yours. Or you can use that big ole' other appendage of yours and give me a happy?"

The smile on her face was unmistakable. She really was just joking around with him, trying to distract him from his depressed musings. He concluded she knew how to distract him better than anyone at the moment.

"I'm not sure if that's prudent."

She snickered his way, shaking her head at his statement. "You and your big words. We're stuck in a cabin in the middle of a fucking blizzard. What else are we gonna do?"

They could talk, he thought. Although Faith wasn't known for her witty conversation. They could research. That they would have to do when the sun came up, if it provided them any light in which to work. Hopefully it would get lighter in the cabin the closer it came to dawn. Wesley inched his toes next to hers. He did want her to understand some things about him before they worked together again. Because it appeared that they would be stuck with each other for quite some time.

He invariably wiped the smile off her face with his next declaration. "My father used to lock me under the stairs, in the dark, with rodents as company."

"Oh," was her response.

"It seems that lately being in the dark has increased my paranoia tenfold. I guess almost dying will do that to a person."

"And here I thought just general neglect was the worst a parent could dish out. Man, your father's fucked up."

Faith may have more insight than he realized. He had forgotten about her childhood, how difficult that it might have been.

"He was very exacting in what he wanted me to accomplish."

"What? Get one wrong on a test or somethin'? Cuz, I hardly even went to school. Never thought it was important. My mom must have pulled me out a dozen different times because we moved around, a lot. Lived with so many boyfriends, I lost count."

"My father is a cold bastard who couldn't care less if I were alive or dead."

"Got ya beat on that. My fuckin' mom has already bit the big one. Too much drinking and drugs did her in early. Wanna trade?"

Faith rubbed her big toe up and down his ankle. This must be Faith's way of opening up to someone. If he could keep her talking, he definitely would figure out how she ticked. Or she would throw in the towel and think that he really was that 'fucked up' individual he believed himself to be.

"Your mother didn't require that you be perfect," he answered her back sarcastically.

"My ma didn't require me to be alive, if you wanna know. She thought I was just a nuisance. Something that interfered with her fucking and drinking. I must have run away from home two dozen times. Got placed too many times to count. And she always got me back. It was that last time, when her last fucking boyfriend tried . . . ." Faith halted her confessions.

Wesley reached over to tilt her chin up, so she would look at him when he asked her the question she probably didn't want to answer.

"How old were you when you left home?"

Faith bit her lower lip, like she was trying to figure out a lie to tell him. She was not a good liar. She went through life punching her way out of trouble. He had learned how to use his brain to get himself out of trouble.

"Fifteen. Kind of a necessity."

"Where did you stay? Your watcher didn't find you until you were sixteen, almost seventeen."

"Yeah, well, friends, you know. I survived. No big deal."

"It's a big deal to me," he quietly told her as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Not stuff they tell the Watcher newbies?"

He wanted to rant and rave at her that he had been inadequately trained. But he concluded that he just wasn't old enough at that time to help a girl like Faith. He didn't have the life experiences that he had now.

"Apparently not. They didn't take those personal facts about slayers in to account. Did he touch you?"

Faith visibly flinched at his question. Even if he hadn't, the way she had been treated as a child would explain why she needed to act like she was in control. The poor girl never had any control while she was young. Nor any guidance whatsoever. She was lost before she could walk.

* * *

Faith's head spun. Why'd he want to talk about her? They were doing so well talking about him. She had figured out a little more the enigma that was good old Wesley. Now she saw why he was able to take the punishment she had meted out to him the time she tortured him. He had been taught early on not to cry out in pain. She wondered if Daddy Pryce had hurt him just like she had hurt him.

But he had turned the conversation back to her. And it wasn't a question that she felt was any of his business. Even if he had seen parts of her no other man had.

"Did he touch me? What about you? Did he beat you if you got something wrong? I'll bet that Daddy Pryce messed with you more than any of my mom's boyfriends did."

Wesley withdrew automatically from her, curling his arms around his legs defensively. She so didn't want him to shut down. He had just put her on the defensive too with those probing questions.

"He wasn't easy to live with, no. But you just diverted my question with your own question. Is it you don't want to me to know or that you'll be embarrassed to let me know something about you?"

"OK, done sharing now."

Faith abruptly got up from her position. Before she could cross the floor to the kitchen, Wesley grabbed her around the leg.

"I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Fuck you, Wes."

She strode over to the sink after he dropped his hand. Gulping down a glassful of water, she turned to find him looming over her. She hadn't even known he'd gotten up, pulled on his jeans and was now standing directly behind her. When had he learned to move so quietly? Or had he just known how to and she had never seen it?

"I'm sorry," he explained.

"Listen, it's just not a topic for discussion. So let's just drop it."

The one candle and the firelight didn't quite reach over to the kitchen well enough so she could see his eyes. She so wanted to see his eyes right then. His eyes were so expressive, she had discovered.

"Agreed. I don't want to dreg up unpleasant memories from you."

God, had he ever been this tall and imposing before? She didn't remember him being this imposing in Sunnydale. Or even this imposing when she last saw him in LA.

"I used to hide in the cupboards. It would be all dark and stuff, but those stupid fucks couldn't find me. So I kinda know how it feels to be trapped in the dark. My own choosing, but it's sorta the same. It's just not fucking fair. They should like have to take a test or something to be a parent."

She could see the fact that he was smiling right then. Against his dark beard, the bright smile did stick out. He must agree, she thought. Of course, if they weren't careful, they might have that problem to deal with also. But it was so not a subject she wanted to bring up right then.

As he moved in closer to her, basically pinning her to the counter, she wondered if they really did need to talk about it. She wasn't about to have any brats around her ankles any time soon. And it would be just her luck that he would have that magic bullet that would hit the bullseye. He bypassed her lips and made straight for her throat, nipping and kissing his way up and down until she knew she needed to get him to stop.

"Uh, we should talk," she finally managed to squeak out, dodging under his long arms to get away from him.

He leaned against the counter for a moment before turning to face her. Man, she fucked up again. He must think she was the one who was nuts.

"About?"

He looked kind of pissed off, but she couldn't worry about that right now.

"Uh, well, there's just some things I need to get straight, you know. Cuz, we, um, did some serious stuff. Fuck, I'm such a fucking loser."

There, she said it. Could he read between the lines and figure it out? Probably not. He still was Wesley. Sometimes as dense as a brick.

"It's a little early to think about things. What we did was nice."

"What?" That was so not the right thing to say to her. "Are you really fucking nuts? That was more than just nice."

"That's not what I meant to say."

"Yeah, well, what did you mean to say?"

Wes sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Yes, it was more than just nice, I do have to admit. I just wasn't exactly performing up to your expectations."

Faith snorted. Man, she just had to react somehow. Yeah, he messed up a little. Wasn't as smooth as she wanted at first. But he had more than made up for it later.

"Three times. Wanna go for four?"

Wesley's head jerked up to look at her. "I didn't think that we'd . . . ."

"What? That we wouldn't again? You really are repressed. The only time you're not is when you're screwing me senseless. Gotta do that more often. One request though. Got any condoms? I really don't wanna see a fucked up Faith clone or a repressed Wesley one running around here any time soon."

His jaw had dropped open until she thought she'd have to push it back up for him. She really did know how to shock him into being speechless. As he rubbed his hand through his beard, she thought that he was going to decline.

"We didn't use anything before," he simply stated.

"Well, no. It was just that one time."

"Twice," he corrected her.

"Oh yeah. That's right. The time where you got off and totally forgot that I existed."

"I'm not the one who decided to take it fast."

"Hey, don't blame me. So? Chop, chop. Let's get this show on the road. Unless you wanna play out that spanking fantasy of yours."

He grabbed her and thrust his tongue half way down her throat before she could even breathe. When had he learned to move that fast? Damn, there was still so much she didn't know about him. But she did know that he wanted her.

"Not forgetting," she said between kisses.

"No. Not at all. Wait. Wait right here."

He literally ran into the other room with the candle in his shaking hand. She heard slamming of doors and things falling. She almost decided to go and help out just so he wouldn't burn the place down in his haste. But he emerged with something behind his back. He gingerly placed the candle on the mantel, away from any flying limbs. Then he dumped the contents of a box out on her head.

"You are such the Boy Scout," she chided him.

"Eternal optimist, I would like to say. I kept them around for old times sake. Not like I had any opportunity to use them."

She jumped into his arms, getting a groan from him.

"Lots of opportunities now."

"Yes," he grunted out, wincing as she bounced in his arms. "Ribs," he finally let her know.

"Oh shit. Sorry," she said as she slid down him.

He groaned as her feet hit the ground. Now that was not a groan of pain. Unless she added him trapped in his jeans. So she unzipped him.

"Going commando?"

"Couldn't find my boxers. Or my shirt for that matter."

He eyed the shirt she was wearing. She didn't know what she was grabbing in the dark. She just wanted some clothes to put on. Then she pulled up the shirt to show him where the boxers had ended up.

"I wonder if that deserves another go over my knee?" he quipped, eyes going darker in the firelight.

Faith swatted at him, driving him against her. "If anyone is bending over, it's you."

"I like how you think," he whispered in her ear as he made his way to her earlobe, biting down gently.

Working his fingers between the gaps in the boxers, he searched until he found how excited she was. Then she did as she had promised.

"Now your ass is nice and red, just like mine was," she told him.

He immediately threw her down on the blankets and covered her body with his.

"Too bad I didn't bring the handcuffs," he said as he started to unbutton his shirt to pull off of her.

He didn't let her get a word in edgewise for the next hour. She figured that those mad skills extended to his voice purring in her ear. Damn him and that voice of his. God, if this was what learning all those languages and shit did to him, now she knew why it was good to have an education. He had already learned what she liked, being the quick study that he was.

"Was that four?" he said panting.

"It could be counted as number four, if you'd been counting, you fuckhead."

"No, I was wondering if I had added another four to the count you seem to be keeping?"

She hit him squarely on the chest, eliciting a major grunt out of him.

"See. Don't mess with me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, love. But watch the ribs."

Damn it, he wrapped himself around her again, pinning her down.

"Not going anywhere," she sighed out as he got more comfortable laying his head between her breasts.

"My darling, there isn't anywhere else to go. You just make an excellent heater, and an excellent pillow, I might add."

"Jerk," she said to him as she shoved him off, placing her head squarely on his shoulder and throwing her leg over him.

She could see him smile as he drifted off to sleep. She had put that contented smile on his face this time. Now if she could just make sure it would stay that way, then she'd be happier herself.

TBC

Author notes: I can't believe all the nice feedback I've gotten. Sorry that I'm not updating like I used to (which was every other day or so on my other fics), but life has intervened. But I will finish this story soon, just so you know. I'm not going to leave anyone hanging. Expect me to update once or twice a week, maybe a little more. Thanks for all of your support and yay, welcome to all the new readers!


	9. Research and Development

Author note: Wow, lots of reviews and comments. This was just going to be a small fic. Now it's turned into something bigger than I could even imagine. I'm having fun writing this. Just so everyone knows (if you haven't already guessed), I love mushy schmoop. And action. So read and enjoy! This chapter is rated R, or M by the new system. Thanks!

Chapter Nine – Research and Development

"What do you think you're doing?" Angel asked her.

"What does it look like?" Faith answered, not all sure why Angel was in her dream.

"You're screwing Judas. I thought you'd know better."

Angel stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, a look of disgust on his face.

"Two sides, Angel. Two sides. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

She mirrored Angel's gesture just to piss him off.

"He stole my son."

"You were gonna kill him."

"Fucking bastard. He knew I could never kill my own son."

"Yeah, not like you didn't massacre people for a couple of centuries."

Angel glared down at her. He wasn't pleased with her taking Wesley's side. Well, he'd just have to deal.

"That's different. I didn't have …," he started.

"A fucking soul. Yeah, tell it to someone else. I have one and look what happened to me. You tried to kill him."

"He deserved it."

"Fuck you, Angel. You gave me a second, no third chance. He made a mistake trying to save not only you but your precious son."

"Did I ask you for your opinion?"

Faith released her arms from around her body, swinging them by her sides now. Angel looked like he was ready to throw down with her. His body posture was screaming it at her. She wanted to be ready. Only as he looked at her, his skin started to look kind of funny. Holes started to appear, he actually became paler, his lips cracked from lack of blood.

"What's happening to you?" she asked as she backed away slightly.

"This is what happened. Wes left, and I got sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Didn't feed for months. Things happen to the brain when it's not fed."

Angel then smiled a little at her. He turned his head like he was listening to someone else, probably in his head.

"Kind of makes you a little crazy."

Faith knew what it meant to be crazy, so out of your mind that you didn't know where to turn. But Angel had brought her out of that state of mind. Wesley's torture had been that last straw, that lowest of the low.

"Why are you in my dream?" she asked.

"From beneath you, it devours."

Faith shot up from under the covers. It was cold beside her. Taking deep breaths, she looked around. Wesley was sitting at the table, head down, book open, tea cup beside his arm. He must have gotten up when he could see to read. A weak light shone through the windows.

"Wes," she whispered, not wanting to jolt him out of his rest.

Looking down, she noticed her lack of clothing. Wrapping the blanket all the way around, she tiptoed over to where Wes was resting. Gently, she rubbed her hand through his hair, hoping that he would come awake slowly. Only he didn't. His hand shot out and grabbed hers in a vice-like grip before she had a chance to move away.

"Wes? Just me," she pointed out as he squeezed her wrist.

"Faith? I must have fallen asleep."

She watched as he rubbed his face to clear the cobwebs. The crease on the side of his face from the table was kind of humorous. His glasses sat askew on his face. As she looked down, she noticed the page he had been looking at before falling asleep. Something about the drawing seemed familiar. The curve of the knife looked like one she saw in one of her dreams.

"Any progress?" she asked as straightened his glasses and took a sip of his now cold tea.

He grimaced into the cup and arose to dump the contents in the sink. "I'm not sure. You said something about a ceremonial knife."

"Um, maybe. I can't remember. You saw some of the same things."

Wesley poured water into the tea kettle to boil. "Maybe. We should start our research in earnest."

Should she tell him about the dream she had? Angel as her messenger kind of freaked her out. But if she didn't tell him now, he would be upset with her later if there was the hint of a clue about the red-robed guys.

"By the way, that knife does look familiar."

"I thought so also," he concurred with her.

"Who does it belong to?" she asked as he handed her a cup.

The tea kettle began to whistle eagerly finally. Faith would take the caffeine any way she could get it. It didn't matter how bad it tasted. She'd just have to drink a lot more of it to get that pleasant buzz she liked.

"Not sure exactly. I don't have the cross-reference that I would normally . . . ," he started, waving his hand right after he stopped.

"Yeah. We'll just have to work with what we got. At least it's light. How's the ribs?"

He looked at her in amazement at her question. "Better, thank you. Still a little sore."

Which probably meant they still hurt like a bitch, she thought. The man could obviously take a lot of pain and not show it.

"You'll need some clothes," he stated matter of factly.

She just wanted to punch him. He was pushing her away swiftly. Like he finally saw the light and decided that she just wasn't good enough. So she decided to piss him off just to see what he would do. She dropped the blanket on the floor and headed off toward the bathroom, swaying her ass as she did. Hearing a chuckle, she quietly pushed the door closed. So the man had a sense of humor. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

After taking a quick shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and headed back to the front room, hoping she could bum some more clothes from Wes. Only he had thought of it first and had piled some right outside the door for her to trip over. Growling over her clumsiness, she slipped the clothes on, breathing in Wes' scent. She decided that she liked how he smelled. Sniffing, she slowly peeked around the corner to see Wes cooking. Bacon, eggs, lots of good stuff. She'd keep him just for his cooking skills alone.

"Grub," she said with enthusiasm.

"I seemed to have worked up an appetite," he deadpanned.

"I only work up a good one after a good screw or a good slay," she added.

He stopped the bite of bacon he was going to put in his mouth and gaped at her. Slowly, he crunched down on the piece, but still stared right into her eyes. She dug into her plate with gusto, finishing in record time. Patting her belly, she grinned up at him as he finished up his portion.

"That being said, I have found several volumes I thought we could go over this morning."

Oh yay, she thought. Research. There was a reason she was never around in Sunnydale when the books were cracked open. She could read alright, but it just gave her a headache. Of course, if they didn't find out who those red-robed figures were, then the two of them would have more than just a headache between them.

"Just make sure they're in English."

"I thought it would be more useful for you to flip through the drawings. See if there's anything that might jog your memory."

He saved her. She really didn't want to read some boring book. Pictures she could deal with. Clearing away the dishes, he handed her a huge volume with some demon's picture on the front.

"Start with this one. Anything, anything that might be relevant, we will look into it."

"Got it."

The drawings were gruesome. She wondered how Wes didn't have nightmares all the time looking at stuff like this. She certainly did, having seen some of these things in person.

"I had another dream last night."

Wes looked up from his book with a jolt. "Yes," was all he said, waiting for her to spill.

"It was kinda harsh, you know."

"Blood, gore and such?"

"Nah. It was, uh, kind of hard to deal with. You see, Angel decided to guest star in it. It was weird."

He sat up straighter, eyebrow shooting up at her confession of Angel.

"How so?"

"He decided that he didn't like me taking sides. Not like I'm taking sides, mind you. I'm just seein' things a little objectively. You did something, he did something. People need to forgive. I know all about that."

"Faith, what did he say?" Wes asked in a quiet voice.

"He didn't understand why I'd believe you. Man, he just didn't give you a chance. I know, you took his son. It wasn't like you were gonna give him to that freak Holtz. You were gonna keep the baby safe."

"Yes, I was. Because if Angel had harmed Connor," he looked off into the distance.

"It would have been game over. Staking him would have been humane."

Faith looked down at her hands, trying not to see his expression. He looked so hurt right then, but she felt like she was intruding on something. She just wished she understood Angel and Wes' relationship much better.

"Then he turned all kinds of funny looking. Like he hadn't eaten in forever. Kind of gross. His skin was all melting away. He told me that he got sunk to the bottom of the ocean."

"What?" Wes cried out.

Faith lifted her head. "That's what he said. Said his brain was messed up."

Wes got up from his seat and started to pace. "When a vampire doesn't feed for long periods of time, the brain starts to deteriorate. He could be kept alive indefinitely. But he would lose his mind."

"Not your fault."

"I left."

"A death threat from a vampire like Angel? Didn't have a choice. He would have snapped your neck."

Wes leaned up against the counter, back to her. Like he was trying to gather his composure. Like he didn't want her to see the emotions playing over his face.

"One more thing? He said something really creepy before I woke up. Something like from beneath you, it eats or devours or something like that."

Wes immediately went for a book on the shelf, pulling it down in his haste. He wasn't even careful with it. So this must be serious, she thought. A clue?

Flipping through furiously, he finally stopped on a page, finger skimming down until it stopped. His mouth moved silently, like he was reading in his head. Faith looked at the book, but it was all gibberish to her. Probably in some language she never heard of.

"That's it," he sighed.

"You figure it out?"

That big brain of his came through. Maybe she didn't want to know what it was when she saw the scowl on his face.

"I need to cross-reference this with one other source," he muttered as he went for the shelf again.

"Just tell me. You know. You know exactly what's coming, don't you?"

"Yes. I do," he answered back.

"I'm a big girl."

"We should figure out a way to contact Giles, just in case."

"Let me tell you, if I'm havin' these weird dreams, then Buffy is probably going through the same thing."

"Yes, you're probably right," he said as he brought back another big book from the shelf.

He turned until he showed her a drawing of the red-robed guys. With their eyes sown over, they really did look like the ones in her dreams.

"So?"

"Harbingers. Minions of evil."

"That's a given. What are we facing?"

"Evil. Pure and simple. The First Evil. Older than all evil combined. Trying to come through the Hellmouth, is my guess."

OK, she thought. She'd faced evil before. Kakistos wasn't exactly chopped liver. He was old and all scary and evil. This couldn't be that bad.

"This is one of those apocalypse types of things, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is."

Figures, she concluded. Damn slayer dreams. His hand was directly next to hers. She could feel the heat coming from it. His fingers were long and strong. She really just wanted to grab it and run. They could hide out until Buffy figured out how to handle it. She always had before. Why not now?

Wes sat down at the table, pulling his chair nearer to hers. She wondered why she hadn't gotten up to pace, but Wes had done enough of that for the both of them. His hand reached out to brush across her cheek, eliciting an exhalation of breath from her.

"We should go to Sunnydale," he finally said to her.

"Oh, no," she retorted, rising from her chair, scraping it back. "Buffy'll kill me on sight. You know that."

"You have changed."

"What? Just because you've fucked me, you think that I've changed?"

Wesley's jaw clenched at her statement. She could almost hear him grinding his teeth together.

"That has nothing to do with my observations. Surely I can form my own conclusions about you."

"Most guys lead with their dicks. How about you?"

He wasn't pleased with her at all. Slowly he got up from his chair to stand directly in front of her. Taking her arms in his large hands, he shook her a little, just enough to tell her that maybe she had come to the wrong conclusion. Then he did what she had wanted him to do for the last hour. Pulling her hard against his chest, he proceeded to devour her mouth with his. He didn't let her up for some time, just feasted on her until she pushed away slightly to take a breath.

"OK, so your mouth's leadin'. You know what I mean."

He scowled down at her. "Do you think for one moment that I would do that if you hadn't changed?"

He made a good point, she thought. She definitely wouldn't have let Wussy Wesley touch her or kiss her that way. He probably would have keeled over with a heart attack.

* * *

Wesley started to pack his bags, sure that he probably would never come back to the cabin ever again. Something told him that whatever they were about to face would be horrendous. But if they survived, if he survived, he certainly would like to come back to the cabin. It at least held pleasant memories. He heard the mew of the kitten on the floor. Looking down, he noticed that the kitten had piddled on the floor and was now upset. He would also have to figure out what to do with the creature. It really was quite a handsome cat. Stroking its fur, he dutifully cleaned up the mess, then continued shoving clothes into another bag.

Then he went through the inventory of his books in his mind. Many of the ones he had, Giles was sure to have. But there were a few that he wouldn't. The weapons that he possessed they certainly could use. Food would be essential also. He didn't want to rely on Buffy or any of the Sunnydale contingent for supplies. Who knew what kinds of conditions they were stepping into?

He heard her before she came into the room. She was learning that sneaking up on him wasn't such a great idea. Standing beside him, she looked down at the clothes in the bag.

"We should pick up my stuff. Not that I don't like your stuff, but it's a little big," she told him.

He looked over at her and noticed the rolled up sleeves. The shirt almost came down to her knees. She looked quite adorable and just a little more than sexy in his clothing. What he wouldn't do right then to rip it off and touch her.

"So we leavin' now?"

"Possibly tomorrow. It's past noon. I say we dig out the SUV and pack. Tomorrow at first light, we leave."

"Not gonna change your mind?"

"No," he whispered to her.

"I'm in. Besides, maybe you can be that watcher that I needed."

"No. That won't due," he grumbled.

Her mouth drew up into a little pout. "That's what you are."

"That's what I was. It doesn't mean I will not help you. But I want us to be equals."

Faith threw her arms up. "OK. So no titles. How about asshole? Think that one fits?"

He chuckled a little. "Just as long as I can call you a bitch at any given opportunity."

"Fuck, you have loosened up. No more stick up your ass."

He swallowed hard at her pronouncement. He had heard that phrase more often than he had liked. No, he wasn't the stuffy, self-absorbed Watcher any more. Then she brought her hand down on his backside for a light tap. He had been in a perpetual state of arousal since he had first seen her. Having her this close didn't change that fact. Now that he'd had her, that made him all that more excited.

He never would have been this rough with any other woman. Neither Cordelia, nor Virginia, or Fred would have liked to be thrown down on the bed. But Faith giggled like a schoolgirl as he did. Slowly, he sank down into her softness, hearing her breathe a sigh of relief as he did so. They were all so fragile compared to Faith. She had already figured out what he liked. A quick study indeed.

"Very loosened up," she groaned as he latched onto her neck, sucking hard.

"Cold?" he asked as he started to unbutton the shirt.

He really didn't want to lose another shirt to her. The buttons would stay intact on this one.

"Warm, hot. You're like a furnace."

Kissing down her body, he discovered that she was excited as he was. But this moment was for her only. He wanted to show her he did care about her. He was glad he was able to see all of her in the dim light of the bedroom. She was so beautiful as she abandoned herself like this, to him only. Slowly coming down from her pleasure, she smiled up at him as he kissed her softly.

"As I've told you, mad skills."

Then it dinged in his head that he had forgotten that all the protection that they had was in the other room.

"Be back," he whispered in her ear, biting it gently.

"Need you," he thought he heard her say as he literally ran out of the room.

Bending down near the fireplace, he found the prize he was looking for. But instead of heading back to the bedroom and a willing Faith, he saw what he dreaded right outside the cabin. The wards were in place. That didn't mean they couldn't get in. He could feel the creatures starting to push against them. The Harbingers were strong. It would take both he and Faith if they were going to survive.

He certainly didn't want to yell for Faith for they surely would hear his call. Before he could make his way back to her, she appeared from the hallway.

"Did you just call me?"

Pointing with his eyes, he showed her what they were up against.

"Oh, fuck," she said as she buttoned her shirt in a hurry.

"The wards are up."

"They gonna hold?" she asked as she grabbed her shoes.

"Not forever. I can for a while though."

"They know we're here?"

"They obviously detect something. But they cannot see us, yet. Something's drawing them here."

Faith pulled on one of his sweaters that she found draped over the couch. "It's gotta be me. You're just a human. Me, slayer you know."

She had said it before he could voice his opinion. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he had considered it.

"Possibly. We have a little time to plan."

Wesley pulled his weapons chest out, handing her weapons of all sorts. Faith admired several of them, putting knives in her boots, loading a couple of crossbows in the process.

"How many?"

He had figured that there were maybe six. Six against two. Granted Faith could be counted to be a formidable foe. But she was out of practice. No training for quite some time. Instead of getting her ready, he was screwing her brains out.

"Six, maybe a few more."

"Piece of cake. Think your guns will take out any of them?"

"I certainly hope so."

Wesley loaded his two pistols and his shotgun, throwing shells and ammunition in his pockets. Then he strapped on a knife to his ankle. He would have to strap the crossbow on somehow too.

"They won't know what hit them," Faith grinned.

"Take them out as quietly as we can. Surprise enough of them, by the time they regroup, we'll have taken out enough for a fair fight."

"Unless there's an army out there. Then we're screwed."

"Literally," he answered in turn.

"Sorry about the bedroom thing. When we get out of this, you are so gonna get some."

Wesley laughed in spite of the dire situation. "I would expect no less from you."

"After slayage activities don't suck."

"We'll see about that," he threw back, watching her eyes widen in surprise.

"Dude, you just did not make a joke?"

Wesley cocked his shotgun and nodded to her. "Ready?"

"Ready to kick some ass. God, I love a man with a big gun."

TBC


	10. Time Goes By So Slowly

Author note: Sorry this took so long. New job, health issues, etc., have been rather daunting. But I'm trying to get back on track. So here's an extra long chapter to tide you over. I hope you like. This chapter is rated R (or M, whatever the equivalent is). Lots going on in this chapter! Hope you like. Read and enjoy!

Chapter Ten – Time Goes By So Slowly

"Where are they?" Faith asked as she checked out the windows.

"At least five in the front. A few more headed around the sides."

"Then it's out the back we go."

Wesley looked at her with a smirk on his face. "There is no back door."

"Will they see us if we go out a window?"

"Possibly not."

Could Faith take some of them out without making noise? He just hoped that they didn't have supernatural hearing or they would be caught quickly. And from the dreams that both of them had, they just wouldn't be taken prisoner. These creatures were assassins, plain and simple.

Faith passed him by, squeezing his backside as she passed. Before she could get very far, he grabbed her, yanking her body against his one last time. Not that he was ever nostalgic anymore, but the dire situation warranted some kind of action. Faith didn't waste any time with him, opening her mouth and diving in, virtually sucking the life out of him before coming up for air.

"For luck," she gave him before continuing her journey down the short hall.

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned and followed her. Peering out the windows of his room, he noticed another three harbingers walking around outside. Faith walked over to her room and waved him over. Only one was present on this side of the cabin. One was a lot better odds than three.

"One at a time, Faith. And quietly."

"Yeah, boss."

He almost growled back at her name for him, but he didn't, not wanting them to bicker right before going into battle. They both needed their concentration on the task at hand, not on arguments and nomenclature.

Faith slowly eased the window open, climbing out and landing softly in the fluffy snow. The red-robed figure had his back turned, no reaction to her movements. Wesley followed her, trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. He certainly didn't want to slam the window home before Faith had taken the Bringer down. She moved swiftly, snapping the thing's neck with a jerk. He caught the falling body, taking it and stuffing it back through the window. Gently, he shut it, basically shielding the body from the others. One down, too many to go.

Faith pointed to the back of the cabin as their next destination. As they crept to the back, Wesley screwed on the silencer to one of his handguns. Faith's eyes widened considerably as she watched him perform this action. But she kept silent about it, knowing that the creatures just might hear them speaking.

Two Bringers guarded the back, trying to figure out a way into the cabin. And their backs were turned. Faith pointed to Wesley, like it was his turn to take down the enemy. Wesley lined up his shot, hitting the first one in the back of the head. He quickly lined up the other one mere seconds later, hitting it. It went down quietly in the snow. The red blood was surprising since he didn't think that they were human. Maybe humanoid, since they did have the same shape as he did.

As he rolled the bodies behind the woodpile, Faith tried to erase any bloodstains in the snow that she could. Then they both pushed snow over the bodies to shield them from their compatriots. He held up three fingers to indicate three down.

What they were not counting on was the one barreling around the corner, letting out a battle cry. That surely would bring the rest of them. Faith quickly silenced it by stabbing it in the gut. She wrenched her sword out as two more raced to the scene, if racing is what it was called. The snow on this side of the cabin was slushy and not packed down. Wesley sunk down to his calves in places, and in a few other places, his knees. But Faith was lithe and moving faster than he thought that she could. The two put up a fight, but she took them down also. Six down. However many to go.

Taking out his shotgun, Wesley blasted the first creature to come around the corner. He kept firing at anything that moved until running out of firepower. Only he didn't count on one of them sneaking up behind him, trying to decapitate him with one of those wickedly sharp knives that he had seen in one of his dreams. As he struggled with the one draped across his back, he saw that Faith was taking on two more. He had to try and shake the bastard on his back so that he could assist her.

Clawing at the thing's face, he finally managed to get the upper hand and the knife went into the snow. An elbow to the stomach produced the satisfying grunt that he was looking for, making the thing let him go. Spinning around as quickly as the snow would let him, he punched the Bringer as hard as he could, making it fall with a crunch down into the snow. If he could get to his knife, then he'd be able to make short work of this one. Although the things didn't have eyes per se, he could tell that something was amiss because of the expression on its face. Before he could turn back around, a knife went sliding into his shoulder, luckily not hitting anything vital. He had moved just in time to not have his head taken off.

In one swift movement, he had his knife unsheathed and into the gut of the one standing behind him. The other tried to kick out and take the knife out of his hands as he pulled it out of the one behind him, but he dodged and rolled in the snow, landing in a deep drift. Off in the distance, he could hear Faith yell his name, but he didn't have time to contemplate what she might want. The one that he had gut-punched had gotten up and was making its way over to him. Throwing the knife in his hand, he hit the thing with deadly accuracy, right between the eyes. It fell with a thud to the white ground.

Grabbing another knife from his boot, he dug himself out of the snowdrift to see if he could help Faith. From what he could tell, she was bloodied but still in the fight. One down, two more to go for her. At least ten down, probably more. Obviously there were more than the six he had first seen. He just hoped that there weren't many more. They both were bloodied now. He quickly drew his last pistol and shot the one furthest away from Faith. It went down with a spray of blood to the pristine ground around it.

Crunching through the snow, Wesley almost made it to the fight Faith was involved in when he noticed that last one had taken out one of those damn knives that had almost done him in. Shouting at her to watch out would do no good. It would just distract her. So he ran as fast as he could to tackle the creature to the ground before it sliced into Faith's skin. One of them with stitches was enough. His shoulder burned like fire, but he put that aside while he trudged over as fast as he could.

He was afraid that he would not make it there soon enough, but the creature was slowed down because of the snow too. It slipped slightly, enough to give Wesley his opening. It went down hard underneath him. The knife went down underneath the thing also. He just hoped that it had taken itself out in the fall. But just in case, he stabbed the thing a couple of times in the back just to make sure. It didn't move after a few seconds. Looking up, he saw Faith through his faded vision. The knife wound to his shoulder was bleeding, obviously making him a bit woozy. But he couldn't pass out now. They had to dig out their vehicle and get the hell out of there quickly.

"What the fuck? I had it handled."

Typical Faith, he thought as he tried to get up off the Bringer. His knife slipped to the ground as he pulled himself up.

"Just trying to help," he panted out, staggering a little.

"He got you?" Faith asked with a concerned look on her face.

"It's nothing. We need to get out of here. Before more show up."

"Yep. Agree with that. Come on," she told him as she grabbed hold of his good shoulder, leading him back to the cabin.

He grimaced as she let go of him to get the front door open. No other Harbingers were in sight. A dozen or so was quite enough for him. If it hadn't been for the snow, he and Faith would not have the advantage. It was obvious the things had never fought in those kinds of conditions.

"Fuck, you're bleeding."

"When am I not?" Wesley quipped back, gripping the back of the sofa tightly with his good arm.

Faith led him over to sit, helping him sink down on it. He sighed a little as he relaxed into its softness. He really didn't care if he bled all over it. He just needed to rest.

Breaking out the medical supplies yet again, Faith had to play nurse to his injuries. It was supposed to be the other way around but he didn't care at that point. All he cared about was making the pain go away. Only taking his jacket off made it all worse. And then she had to go and pour something on it that made it burn so badly that he drifted off into oblivion again. Thank goodness for passing out.

* * *

Faith muttered to herself as she worked on Wes' shoulder. He was sliced pretty good, but not so much that she couldn't stitch him back together. He'd have a good scar from it, but it wouldn't kill him. She was so glad that he passed out from the pain, because looking into his eyes and seeing him in pain yet again made her feel queasy. After finishing the last stitch, she wrapped a bandage around the wound and put a blanket around him. Then she raced around the cabin, putting all the things they needed to take at the door. Running outside, she frantically dug out the SUV from the snow, all the while keeping an eye out for more creepy creatures in red robes. Not that her muscles weren't burning from fighting, now they were screaming at her to stop, take a break. But she knew they had to get out of there as fast as possible.

Grabbing all the stuff, she packed the vehicle with all the belongings that she thought Wes would want, adding as many books in the back as she could, especially the ones that they were looking at before being so rudely interrupted.

Her promise would have to wait until he was better. He added to his scars, which didn't make her all that happy. The red robed things weren't very smart, but they sure were tenacious, which meant they kept coming. Twelve of them almost was enough to do the two of them in. Next time, she was sure they would send more out after them. If she could get Wes to do one of those warding spells, maybe they'd be a little safer until they made it to Sunnydale.

Making it to Sunnydale seemed to be the only choice right then. These things would keep coming until they both were dead. She was sure of that now. They not only went for her, they had no qualms about killing Wes too. And he wasn't even in the way.

After stowing the last of the food in the car, Faith wrestled the kitten out from underneath a bed and set out to place it in the car too. They would have to drop it off somewhere, giving it to someone who could take care of it. Striding back inside, she breathed deeply one more time the clean air around the cabin. Now she was glad they had encountered the Bringers out back instead of here. She didn't have to look at the bodies while she loaded up.

"Wes," she whispered. "Time to go."

His pain-glazed eyes opened with her voice. "Go?" he groaned out.

She gently put a shirt on him, buttoning it up just like a mother would.

"Yeah. We're loaded and ready to go."

"Books," he added.

"I got 'em. Food and clothes too. We're good to go."

"Good, Faith. Good girl. You're handy to have around," he muttered.

"Can you stand?"

"With assistance," he answered.

Slowly, she was able to help him stand. He was so much taller than she was, she almost toppled back to the sofa at first. Steadying him, she walked him out to the SUV and placed him in the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt across him.

"You can't drive."

"Have to. I'll deal. Go slow and all."

"How did you get out to the cabin that day?" he asked as she clicked his seatbelt in place.

"Hitchhiked."

"Figures."

After kissing him gently on the forehead, she was able to get the SUV out and on the snow-covered lane to the highway. She was never so glad that it was still light outside. She could see where she was driving. Wondering how the Harbingers got to them, she saw a van off in the distance. It looked abandoned, but she was taking no chances. She headed in the opposite direction where the van was sitting. Sure, it would take them back through town, in the opposite direction as Sunnydale. But she could get her stuff and drop the kitten off somewhere. It had taken up residence on Wes' lap, probably because he wasn't moving. The not moving thing worried her.

She couldn't take him to a hospital because they would start asking questions. So she drove as fast as she could without crashing the car. Slowing down as she made it into town, she was lucky that the main roads were plowed. Screeching to a halt, she ran in to her room and grabbed her bag, stuffing it in the back. Across the street, she spotted the only other person she recognized, Wes' coworker. Grabbing the sleeping kitten from Wes' lap, she trotted over to her, hoping that the woman had a big heart.

"Hey, you work with Wes?"

The woman turned, eyes widening a little at Faith's appearance. Sure, she had some bruises on her face. Sure, her clothing had some blood on it. She just hoped the woman would take the kitten and let it go.

"Yes. Has something happened to him?"

"Nah. He's fine. Look, he needs a home for the kitten."

The woman was still suspicious, but eyed the kitten as it mewed in Faith's arms. Faith had gently wrapped it up to shield it from the cold.

"What happened to you?"

"Small car accident. Slick roads and all. Look, can you take it? We can't take care of it."

"We?" the woman inquired.

Oops, Faith thought. She had such a big mouth.

"Yeah, Wes and I are takin' a little vacation together. He's over there in the car. Look, I gotta go. Gotta get cleaned up. Check out the car since it was me who ran into that snowbank. He's not letting me off easy about that."

The woman gaped at her as Faith babbled on about the car. Thank fuck it had some front end damage from the snowbank they had run into the first time. But it was still drivable.

"How long have you known Wesley?"

"Like forever. We kind of split up. That's why he was here. Thinking shit out and all. Now we're back together. Well, sort of back together. We'll see after this little vacation."

Vacation in hell, Faith wanted to add, but that wouldn't sound so good. Faith quickly handed over the kitten. The woman immediately wrapped it up in her coat. Faith reached over and stroked its soft head one more time.

"Sorry to dump and run, but time's a wastin'. Thanks for your help. I know that the kitten will have a good home. Just found her yesterday wandering around in that snowstorm."

"Oh dear. I'm surprised that it didn't die."

"Nope. Must have some strong kitten genes or somethin'."

Faith turned to walk away, hoping that the woman would let it all drop and not summon any kind of authorities.

"Will Wesley be coming back?" she asked.

"Um, hope so. I think so. He likes it here. Might be awhile. Just so you know. I think it's nice here too. So quiet."

"Yes it is. Nice to meet you, uh, what was your name?"

Faith knew she was caught now. So she did what she did best. She lied. "Buffy. I'm Buffy Summers. Glad to meet you too."

Faith shook the woman's hand and quickly made her way over to the car. Wes stirred a little as she started up the engine, gunning it a little accidentally.

"Where's the kitten?" he mumbled.

"Gave it to that lady. She'll take care of it."

"Who?"

Wesley glanced out the window to see the woman Faith referred to. The woman waved at them as they drove past. Wesley waved back with his good arm, still grimacing while doing it. Faith hoped it looked like he was smiling.

"Good call. Can't take care of a kitten when we can barely take care of ourselves."

That stung Faith a little, but she let it pass, knowing that Wes was just down on himself for getting hurt.

"Twelve, Wes. There were at least a dozen of them."

"I remember quite well how many there were."

"Thanks, for all of it. You took down more than I did."

She could see out of the corner of her eye Wes looking at her. She didn't want to take her eyes off the road since she was nervous driving in the first place.

"I did, didn't I?" he finally said, a little wonder in his voice.

"Yep. You sure did. Fucking deadly accurate with that gun of yours. Reminds me to never cross you again. You hit those things between the eyes without even blinking."

Wes sighed, resting his head into the headrest. "Practice."

"Not fucking practice. If I was that accurate, the two of us wouldn't be sitting here right now. I would have dusted Angel that time with the crossbow. Mad skills, Wes. One more thing that I've learned about you. You've got some mad skills."

Wes surprised her yet again. She always thought he was this bumbling Watcher guy. Now she knew better. He was smart as a whip, probably smarter than Giles, could shoot better than anyone she had ever known, had balls out the wazoo for taking down those red robed guys without flinching, and could make her excited with just a look. How could all of this have happened in just a few days time?

"Luck," he replied.

"Fuck no. Nice to have a partner who can keep up his end of the deal. Partner?"

"Partner," he told her, closing his eyes against the pain in his shoulder.

Now they were partners in more ways than one.

* * *

Wesley awakened to the SUV parked in a parking lot. It was dark now, artificial light shining in through the windshield. Faith was nowhere to be found. The pain in his shoulder had lessened a little, but not by much. He really thought about taking something for the pain, but he didn't want his mind muddled. Pain medication did that to him. So he bit the bullet and hoped that by the morning it would be manageable.

The door opening startled him a bit, but it was just Faith, dangling a key in front of his face.

"You're awake."

"Just barely," he groaned out as he tried to move.

"Hang on. I need to park closer."

Faith swung out of the spot she had parked and pulled up in front of a room on the end. As he tried to open his door, Faith beat him to it, helping him out of the car.

"I'm falling asleep at the wheel. I hope this is OK."

"Is there a bed?"

"Better be."

"Then this is alright."

Faith chuckled a little at his comment, but didn't talk further. She had to let go of him as she unlocked the door. It wasn't much, but there was a big bed and the room was warm. Helping him over to the bed, she deposited him on it and ran back out to the car.

Several bags later, she slammed the door home.

"Can you like ward this room or something? Just in case."

It would drain energy, but it was probably necessary.

"Can I help?" she asked as he started to concentrate.

As he mumbled out the spell, Faith touched his arm, sending a jolt of energy up and down his arm. He felt the spell literally pop into place as she touched his skin.

"Was that supposed to happen?" she asked, still not letting go.

"I must have somehow tapped into your slayer power. Are you alright?"

"Peachy. Just felt weird. Warded?"

"Yes, for the night."

Wesley felt slightly better also. Maybe the borrowed power helped heal him just slightly. He had read accounts of borrowing of power from witches and warlocks, but never from a slayer. But they had combined their power to put the wards up. There had been an account from Giles once, combining Buffy's power with his and Willow's. It could be possible. He just hoped that Faith had brought the correct books with them for research.

"I didn't mean for that to happen. It just did."

"No biggie. I'm fine. You're not. Let me take a look at that shoulder."

The stitches pulled some as Faith took off his shirt. She poked around a little, then shook her head with wonder.

"You must heal fast. It's already mostly closed up."

That was impossible, he thought. The slice was deep enough to warrant stitches. It should have taken days, maybe even a week to close up. He slowly got up from the bed and staggered to the bathroom.

"Hey, you're still woozy. I can't stitch you up every time you take a fall, you know."

He looked into the mirror at his reflection. The wound was healing nicely. Surely there would be a scar, but it had closed up. Had that jolt that Faith gave him do more than help with the spell he was performing? Otherwise, he looked like hell. Nothing like the beauty behind him. Her bruises had already healed, making it look like she had not been in a fight that afternoon. Her skin was clear and pale in the harsh lighting of the bathroom.

"That's not supposed to happen, is it?"

"Not usually. But it's healing."

Faith's hand ghosted over his wound, gently tracing his collarbone and the side of his neck just enough to make him shiver.

"We should get cleaned up."

Wesley was amazed at how unashamed Faith was at walking around partially nude. Her shirt dropped to the ground, revealing her unencumbered breasts. She hadn't had time to fully clothe herself that afternoon. Not that he had minded. And he was amazed at how quickly he became excited by just looking at her through the mirror.

"You comin'?" she joked as she turned on the shower.

"Certainly."

Dropping his shirt to the floor, he gingerly took his pants off, looking at all the encrusted blood on his pants and boxers. He had bled more than he thought. Or could this have been from their attackers?

Faith had her back to him as he entered the shower. She was standing directly under the scalding spray, rinsing the remaining blood from her body. Turning, she pushed him under. He flinched as the water hit his wound, but didn't move since it felt so good to be warm. The soapy hands on his back felt like heaven. He let the water pound into the top of his head as Faith washed his backside.

"Turn," she commanded.

She proceeded to wash the worst of the blood off the front of him. Then she scrubbed his hair briskly, helping him rinse off since the arm still hurt to raise above the elbow.

"Squeaky," she said as she ran her hands up and down his chest.

She had already cleaned there, but decided that he needed a more thorough cleaning.

"Your turn," he said as he shifted in the tub.

Faith quickly soaped herself down, running her hands up and down her body. He wasn't certain she meant to be seductive, but she was. She finally rinsed her hair, pushing it back from her face as she opened her eyes to look directly into his.

"Like the show," she said as she moved closer.

"Minx."

"Bastard."

"Tease."

"Shut up and use that mouth for something better than making up names for me."

He literally groaned as she kissed him and stroked him at the same time. Luckily the water was still quite warm. But most of it was hitting Faith in the back, since she had worked him to lean against the wall. He closed his eyes as Faith's magical hands worked up and down his body. Suddenly, the water hit his chest as Faith went to her knees in front of him. He almost went there with her also as he looked into her eyes.

"Oh god, Faith, we should …"

He couldn't get the sentence out before she decided to take matters into her own hands. And she was talking that he had mad skills. This was definitely a skill that he could get used to. She was in charge here. He had nothing to do but enjoy what she was doing to him.

"Mad skills," he whispered in her ear after she had worked her magic on him.

"I aim to please. Now out," she commanded, shutting off the water behind her.

He didn't disobey, knowing that right that instant she was still in charge. She quickly and briskly dried off, then helped him as his mind wandered in different directions. The pain was enough to manage, but he still was thinking about their attackers from earlier in the day. And the fact that Faith needed some attention of her own.

As he reached out to touch her, she swatted his hands away, leading him to the bed. Pulling back the blankets, she deposited him on the bed. Swiftly, she squirmed under the covers too, placing her head directly over his heart. Her small sigh of relief was very apparent to his hearing. She wasn't talking to him, just lying silently. He didn't know what to say to her other than to thank her for caring.

"Faith?" he started.

"Shh. Sleep. Then we figure out what the hell is going on. Not before."

"You . . . ," he wanted to tell her.

"Forget about it. Later," she responded with finality.

Stroking his fingers through her damp hair, he wondered if she really meant later. If what she did in the shower was just her way of saying thank you and not a sign of something more. He wanted to show her that he did care for her, but his body wasn't reacting. Just the fact that she was holding him made him sleepy. Drifting off to sleep, he hoped that the wards would hold until they could put together more pieces of the puzzle.

* * *

Faith didn't mind. She totally didn't mind. But it was a first. She always thought about herself first when it came to sex. So she thought about her partner this time. Was that such a bad thing? Not that it was gonna become a habit or anything.

As she slowly opened her eyes to the darkened room, she wondered how the hell she had ended up like this. She was wrapped around Wes like a blanket. Hell, she never did the cuddling thing. But the room was cold, she told herself. Fuck the room. She just wanted to make sure he was still breathing. Or that he didn't skip out on her. If she wasn't around, those creatures wouldn't have gone after him. He was injured, because of her. He could have died, because of her. He seemed to be good at getting in her way, or saving her ass. She'd just call it payback for killing that scary spider so many years ago in Sunnydale High's cafeteria.

She willed the bad memories away for the moment. They needed to concentrate on the task at hand. They had demony red robed things after them, some kind of apocalypse could be coming, and they were now sleeping together. She didn't know which one scared her the most. Crap, she almost mumbled out loud. This is so screwed up.

Wes shifted under her tightened grip, rubbing his backside against her as he settled. God, she just wished she would have taken him up on his offer. She was practically dying for him to touch her intimately. Hell, if he didn't, she just might untangle herself and do the job. What was it about being close to him? She really shouldn't be feeling about him that way, about any guy for that matter.

It was probably because of the time in prison. No guys to take care of business. This guy could certainly take care of business and then some. She wondered if she just helped herself that he would be mad. But no. He was hurt. She'd wait until he felt a little better. She still couldn't resist rubbing her hand through his chest hair, just a little. And she certainly couldn't resist snaking her tongue out and tasting him, just a little.

"You insatiable wench," she heard him mumble.

Fuck, she hadn't meant to wake him up. She just wanted him to get better. Her tongue flicked out again, right between his shoulder blades. His little groan of encouragement made her feel all tingly. Goody, goody, she thought. He must be feeling better. Would he push her away if he didn't?

He took her hand that had tangled in his chest hair and was now licking each finger thoughtfully. Shit, the things he could do with his tongue.

"Are you OK?" she whispered through her light kisses.

The chuckle that came out told her everything. Of course a man was always OK when faced with the fact that he just might get lucky. Moving up, she decided to taste his shoulder and then his neck while rubbing her legs up and down his back. How could he be so smooth to the touch? How could he possibly want her to touch him in the first place?

Faith jerked away from him, realizing that she had to stop this. Had to stop playing lover to Wes, the one person who had figured her out those many years ago. She wasn't worthy of the gentleness he showed her.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he rolled over.

"I'm sorry. I'm just sorry. OK. Go back to sleep."

She was so glad he couldn't see her expression, that he couldn't see the tears that were threatening to fall. The damn jerk didn't back away, didn't turn away from her. He just gathered her up in his arms, not giving in to the resistance she was putting up.

"This is not how this is supposed to be," Faith confessed.

"How so?" he asked. "We're not supposed to give each other comfort? We're not supposed to actually like each other? Don't you suppose we're beyond that by now?"

Fuck, they were supposed to be beyond that. She wanted them to be beyond that. What did she want from him?

"Do you like me?" she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

God, she sounded like a stupid freak for asking. Of course he didn't like her. How could he? She fucking tortured him. She made his life a living hell in Sunnydale. She was probably the reason why he wasn't a Watcher any more. How could he like her?

Suddenly, he had her beneath him, kissing her senseless. So he wanted to screw her. How was that different from any other man?

He finally came up for a breath, sighing as he did. "Would I be here right now?"

He slowly descended to her neck, sucking softly, making her whimper in response.

"I love how you taste, how you respond, how you fight, how you think. What's not to like? You get angry too easily, you sometimes get down on yourself, you definitely love being in charge. But that makes you you. Don't complicate this any more than it is."

"I'm not. It's just, I don't know," came out a little whiney.

The friction he was causing was making her eyes cross a little. On the one hand, she just wished he would get down to business. On the other hand, she wished he would just give her a morsel, something to hold onto.

"I want you. All of you," he groaned as he did get down to business.

That put her over the edge. One little sentence made all the difference. No one had ever told her that he wanted her. Wanted to have her in bed, yeah. But that was only one small part of her. As he moved over her, making her feel wanted, making her feel fucking great, she realized she wanted all of him too. Not just what they were doing right then. Hell, she'd even crack a book open now and then if that's what it took.

As she arched her back, she felt him pull away a little, felt him leave her as she shook with pleasure. Only he hadn't finished yet. With a small cry, he found his release too, only not inside her. Her mind understood why he'd done that. She just felt that need to connect with him.

"Sorry," he whispered in her ear.

"At least you're thinking. Me? Not so much."

"Hardly. Looks like you might need another shower."

"Coming?"

"Not for a while."

"Mind. Gutter. Never thought Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's mind would be in the gutter all the time."

"With you around, it's particularly difficult not to be."

Faith playfully slapped him, pushing him off of her to inspect the damage.

"Yep. Shower. Now."

TBC

Author note: I didn't think this fic was going to take the turn to Sunnydale. I just might save that part for a sequel. I really wanted to wrap this up before they arrived. And Faith is rather mushy in this chapter. So, sue me. I love it when she does this. She's so confused right now. Just the way I like her. I'll be updating my other fic shortly, since I did a big chapter here. Thanks to all who have followed one or the other or both. It's been a journey! I've gotten some lovely comments. To the reader who went back and read them all, thank you, thank you. You don't know how great that review felt. You are a gem. To all the others out there who have read, but may not have reviewed. Please keep reading. Review when you can. Drop a line any time. I look forward to hearing from you!


	11. Meet and Greet

Author notes: Grr. I wanted to upload this yesterday, but I couldn't log on. Now I can. Please enjoy and review! I love the reviews I've gotten so far. You all are the best.

Chapter Eleven – Meet and Greet

"What do we do?" Faith asked.

Do what, Wesley wanted to know? They were driving to Sunnydale, most undoubtedly to face another apocalypse.

"When we get there? Buffy's not gonna be happy."

"Surely she will realize what an asset you could be."

"Yeah. Right. Just like she was ready to fry my ass back in LA the last time I saw her."

She did have a point. Buffy probably would not be very pleasant toward Faith. Nor would she be very pleasant with him. It could be a problem. Hopefully Giles would be there to ease the pain somewhat. Of course, maybe the Watcher would punch his lights out for all he had done, or not done, as the case was.

"We will take it as it comes. Don't worry. Or I should say, I'll make sure …."

He didn't know how to finish that sentence, because he didn't know how Faith would react to it all.

"You'll have my back. Just like you should. I'll have yours. Deal?"

That would satisfy him for the moment. With Faith there to watch out for him, matters could turn out better. Or could go desperately wrong.

"I think I could deal with that. You should let me do the talking though. Buffy could get angry."

Faith laughed a little, but didn't react any further. He had seen the look of violence in Buffy's eyes back in Angel's old apartment. He had seen that look of I will kill her dead if she so much as moves. Buffy then proceeded to help Faith get away from the Council. So she obviously had some kind of feelings for her fellow slayer. He just hoped that would be enough to avert the violence.

"Ya think?"

They settled into an uncomfortable silence until approaching Sunnydale. The sign that usually greeted visitors hung a little lopsided at the side of the road. That didn't bode well at all. As they drove through the outskirts of town, both noticed how deserted it was.

"Damn. Doesn't look good," Faith spoke up.

"We will find out soon enough."

Since they had been driving for a few days to reach their destination, all Wesley had wanted to do was find a corner to curl up and get some sleep. Now he was alert as ever. During the day, Sunnydale had always been teeming with life. As if the inhabitants knew they owned the daylight hours. Now, even during the daylight, there wasn't much movement to speak of. Occasionally a car passed them, but no one was outside gardening, outside doing chores, walking, interacting with their neighbors. Was Sunnydale truly deserted? Were they too late? Had everyone already abandoned the Hellmouth to evil?

As Wesley pulled up in front of the familiar house he had remembered from long ago, he shut off the engine and gripped the steering wheel.

"So? Here we are. This sucks so much, you know that. Just so you know," Faith started.

"Indeed I do."

Faith snorted back, like she thought that his comment was humorous. He really didn't see the humor of the situation one bit.

"Fuck. Well, we gonna sit out here and brood or go in and face the firing squad?"

The idea of the second option did appeal to him for a moment before he turned to Faith one last time.

"As much as I would enjoy that firing squad, we still need to face them. Are you ready?"

"Fuck no. Not ready at all. But you know what?"

The twinkle in Faith's eyes said it all. If he could forgive her, if he could find it in his heart to let her in, then what they thought of her didn't matter.

"What?" he whispered as he moved closer to her.

"Too bad we can't just do it right here. Might help me deal?"

Wesley chuckled as his head descended to hers, pulling her into a tight embrace as he covered his mouth with hers. The kiss was hot and desperate and totally Faith. She clung to him until he couldn't breathe. As soon as he raised his head, she pulled him back again.

"Oh my god," a squeal came from the front of the SUV. "This is so totally crazy."

The fog in his brain from Faith's kisses started to lift as he raised his head yet again to look and see a young girl standing directly in front of his vehicle. If he wasn't mistaken, it must be Buffy's younger sibling, the ever bothersome Dawn.

"Squirt," he heard Faith mumble as she let him go.

Slowly, they both unclicked their seatbelts and exited the car.

"Oh god, Buffy's gonna totally freak. You know that, don't you?"

"Sort of thought that would be the case. Dawn."

"Faith, break out of prison?"

Wesley had noticed that Dawn was no longer the awkward girl who was all legs. She had grown into a young woman. Her height must irk Buffy to no end, he thought, considering Dawn had grown quite tall.

"Dawn, still a bitch?" Faith growled back.

"Dawn, might we inquire to the whereabouts of your sister?" Wesley asked, trying to avert Dawn's attention.

"Huh? Oh, Buffy. She's around somewhere. Come on. This should be good."

The girl really wanted to see some kind of showdown between Faith and her sister.

"We're not here to fight, against you I mean. We are just here to help."

"Yeah, Wussley. I mean Wesley."

Wesley winced a little at the nickname, but didn't let it bother him much. He really didn't care what the people in Sunnydale thought of him.

"Dawnie. Now," Faith commanded.

Dawn led them up the pathway to the house. Faith grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. If it was to reassure him or herself, he appreciated the gesture immensely.

"Welcome to Slayer Central. Wipe your feet. Get your earplugs out. Get ready for way too much squealage."

That didn't make much sense, but Dawn never did to him anyway.

As Wesley entered the Summers household, he noticed how much more cluttered it had become. He knew it couldn't be easy living in a house without an adult. Except Buffy was an adult now, just as Faith was.

"Must be out back training," Dawn said as she walked through the house.

As she opened the back door, Wesley stood in the doorway in shock. On the back lawn were girls. Lots and lots of girls. Training. Some were awkward, many had some of the moves down. Most looked to be untested in battle though. They were in for a rough ride.

"Potentials," he muttered out.

It was unbelievable. Never had he seen so many Potentials in one place, at one time. Usually a few trained at the Council. But there must have been at least two dozen on the back lawn.

"Yeah, potential pains in the ass, if you ask me. But no one asks me for my opinion," Dawn piped up.

Faith just stood with her mouth hanging open. "Baby slayers?" she asked.

"Yes, that is a good description of what Potentials are."

"Fuck, they'll be slaughtered."

"I concur."

"Just don't say that around them. Buffy thinks she can make an army," Dawn explained. "Come on and face the General."

Wesley didn't see Faith tense, but he could feel the waves of tension roll off of her. He was feeling the exact same thing.

"Giles?" he asked as they made their way to the front of the group.

"Researching. He'll be around soon."

Good, Wesley thought. He didn't want to be the only one with knowledge around here. Giles had a quick mind and superb researching abilities in addition to his fighting skills.

Faith fell into step directly behind and to his side, like she didn't want Buffy to see her first. He couldn't blame her one bit. It might take a small amount of the sting away from the first meeting.

"Hey, Buff. Brought you a surprise. You're not gonna believe it."

Great, he thought. Let Dawn introduce their arrival. Not exactly what he had wished.

"Did you get what I wanted?" he heard a strong voice over all the others.

"Nah. I have to go back later. Maybe I can take Spike with me."

Spike, Wesley concentrated. That couldn't be who he thought it was.

"We'll see."

Wesley spied Buffy at the head of the group. She had changed significantly since the last time he had seen her. She was harder, edgier than he had last remembered her to be. She looked too world weary, too worn down by it all.

"OK, I'll bite," Buffy turned, finally answering to her sister's exclamation.

"Buffy," he said clearly.

At first Buffy didn't react to his presence, until he saw Faith standing behind him.

"What is she doing here?" Buffy growled.

He could see several of the Potentials tensing because of Buffy's tone of voice.

"We've come to help."

"Help? I don't need your kind of help. Wesley, is that really you?"

Surely she recognized him right away, but her attention was directed towards Faith. He hadn't taken the time to shave yet again and his hair was almost touching his collar. The last time she had seen him, the bruises and cuts on his face told a much different story.

"Certainly you have to understand that we are only here because of what has been happening. Otherwise, neither one of us would have graced your doorstep."

Buffy looked a little bewildered at his proclamation, until Faith whispered to him. "She never was too much with the big words, Wes."

Faith had literally pressed herself up against his backside, peeking out from behind him. He didn't think that Faith could be scared of anything. Or was she just trying to avoid a confrontation?

"As I said, we don't need your help."

"You will, if what I've seen today, out here, is any indication."

"What?" Buffy responded defensively. "What the fuck do you know?"

"I know that the Bringers will chew them up and spit them out. I know that they want to kill every one of the Potentials until there is no good left in the world to defeat them. And I also know that the First is trying to open the Hellmouth."

Buffy stood there, mouth opening and closing. The other girls started to chatter amongst themselves, all with looks of worry on their faces.

"What the fuck do you know?" one of them, a dark-haired girl that looked quite a bit like Faith, chimed in.

"If every one of you doesn't learn how to defend yourselves, you'll all die in a short amount of time."

"Damn. I told him not to point that out," Dawn said as she started to back away from the group.

Now all the Potentials looked angry at him, which was just what he wanted in the first place.

"What was this about letting you talk?" Faith asked as she ducked out from behind his back, getting into a fighting stance.

"I thought that I was doing splendidly."

"Yeah, so we can get our asses kicked."

Wesley turned and grinned at her. It was almost like they were telepathic with each other now.

"Do I have to say thanks later?" Faith asked.

"Most definitely."

Faith took two down before he could blink. The three that rushed him found themselves on the ground quickly, all tangled together. The two newcomers went through at least a dozen of the Potentials before Buffy stopped the fighting. Luckily, she hadn't entered the fight. He could tell just by looking at her that she probably was even better than she was when he was in Sunnydale, just looking in her eyes right then.

It was the cocking of a crossbow that threw him out of his revelry from having taken on a dozen potential slayers. His hand flew under his jacket, wrenching out his gun and pulling it, turning to thrust it into the intruder's face.

"No," Dawn screamed as he cocked his own weapon.

"Wesley," the man behind the ready crossbow finally said.

"Rupert," he replied calmly.

Faith had come to stand beside him, ready for anything else that was thrown at them or to take down Giles if need be.

"You're here," Giles responded.

"So it seems."

"Good. I thought that maybe you'd been killed also."

"Not unless you let go of that trigger. My slayer might not be so forgiving."

"I suppose not," Giles responded with a cocked eyebrow.

Wesley had his weapon stowed before Giles could blink. The look of surprise on the older Watcher's face was enough for him.

"Faith," Giles greeted her.

"Giles. What's shakin'?" she snarked back as she always did.

"Entirely too much, if you must ask."

"Giles, they took out half of the girls," Buffy came up beside Giles, wary of the two.

"I saw, which was why I was going to come to the rescue. The Potentials still need so much work."

Wesley shook his head slightly in agreement, not wanting to anger Buffy any more than he had.

"You've apparently encountered the Bringers."

"I have. We both have. I assumed that you needed our help."

Buffy's intake of breath meant she still didn't want their help.

"From a traitor and a murderer. Rather not have that kind of help," Buffy said as she made her way around the group to go into the house.

"Wesley?" he heard another familiar voice shout from the door to the house.

He thought that he would never hear that voice again. He had hoped that he would never hear it again. She was here, in Sunnydale. This could mean only one thing. Something had happened in LA for her to have joined up with Buffy and her group.

"Winifred."

* * *

Damn, who's the skinny chick that has Wes' shorts all in a bunch, Faith thought? And she thought she was the only one who could make Wes feel uncomfortable. Well, that was only when he saw her the first time. Now it was all he could do to keep his hands off of her. At least they communicated in that way.

Except he was walking away from Faith, leaving her to her own devices, which meant facing all the others, as he approached the skinny chick he called Winifred.

"You're alive," the woman declared before she put her skinny arms all the way around him and enveloped him in a great, big hug.

Faith almost came out of her skin as she watched. That woman was touching Wes like she fucking knew him.

"Yes, I am, Fred."

"It's just with the Council blowing up and all the other stuff happening, we were worried. You just disappeared without a trace," Fred rambled.

Faith could see Wes' back go ramrod straight. His shoulders didn't hunch over in disappointment. They were tense as hell. Was it the Council being no more or her comments about his disappearing act that had him all freaked out?

He set the woman back from him and walked directly inside the house without looking back for her. Stupid bastard, she thought. What was their pact for anyhow? But she followed, if just to find out what the deal was.

The Winifred girl watched as Faith followed, her look of confusion visible. Let the woman look, but no more touching.

"Wes?" Faith called out as she entered the house.

He was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, back turned from her.

"Who the hell's this Winifred chick and what the fuck is wrong with you?"

She knew it came out too harsh, but what the fuck. She needed to know why he'd gone all Joe Stoic on her. His knuckles were white as he gripped the counter with his hands. Joe Stoic my ass. He was freaked beyond belief.

"Wes," she said as she put her hand on his shoulder.

"We should, um, figure out where we can stay for the duration," he got out.

Damn, she just wanted to spin him around and confront him, just get him to let it all out. But now wasn't the time, she realized. Giles had followed after her. They'd have to talk later.

"You obviously did not know about the Council, Wesley. I'm sorry for you hearing about it like this."

"Giles, we need a place to stay," Faith cut in.

"So you both intend to stay?" Giles said like he couldn't believe they would.

"Yeah. Looks like you might need some help," Faith replied for Wes.

"Excellent. But you can't stay here. There isn't any space left. I'm not sure where I could put you. Every available surface is taken at night."

"The garage. I assume you'll want us close?" Wes asked, slowly turning to face Giles.

"You cannot expect to be protected there," Giles answered Wes' question.

"I'll put wards up."

Giles' intake of breath said it all. He didn't believe that Wes could work some serious mojo.

"Don't concern yourself with our welfare," Wesley ground out.

"Wesley, I concern myself with everyone's welfare. You are not strong enough to accomplish that kind of magicks."

Oops, Faith thought. Wrong thing to say to the man with the loaded guns in his back waistband. She's sure he had another one on him somewhere. She'd have to frisk him some other time to find it. Might be fun. But now the expression on Wes' face wasn't fun. It was downright scary.

"Rupert, you don't know me. You never knew me or what I was capable of. Don't assume anything."

Wes brushed past the older man to walk to the front door.

"Giles, I know this is all fucked and that you guys don't want our help, but Wes feels that it's necessary. And if he says he can take care of the wards, believe me, he can take care of them."

"Faith, it was not my intention to make Wesley angry. I just want the two of you to be safe while you're here."

"We aren't safe just by what we are, Giles. A dozen Bringers tried to take us down. And here we are now."

Giles looked at her with a little admiration at her declaration.

"Faith, I know what happened to Wesley in Los Angeles."

"Yeah, kinda got that impression. Just know this Giles. Don't fuck with him. Because if you do, you won't like the consequences."

Faith walked out quickly before the older Watcher had a comeback. Wesley was standing beside the SUV, leaning up against it.

"So, you wanna tell me why you freaked in there?"

"The bastard's dead Faith. And I'm not sure if I feel sad or elated. Not exactly the thing one should feel about his own father."

Faith hadn't known that Wesley's father was with the Council. It explained a lot about the man, especially since most of those guys were the ultimate bastards in her book.

"Sorry, Wes. I didn't know your father or anything, but it's hard. I kind of felt both when my mom died. Relief mixed with a sense of freedom. Totally fucking messed with my head for a while. Luckily my first Watcher was there, to at least listen to me."

Wesley turned to her and gave her a little smile. "Well, we should be figuring out a place to stay. The garage sounds like a good plan. Do you mind?"

"Nah. We'll manage. Besides, I don't think the baby slayers would like to hear us moaning in the middle of the night, now would they?"

She just loved making Wes blush. He turned such a pretty shade of pink every time she did it.

"We should be discreet."

"Hey, weren't you the one who didn't give a fuck about what they think?"

Wes opened the door to move the SUV in the back. "Some of those girls are quite young and impressionable."

"Yeah, quite juicy too. Ripe for the picking. Damn, why is it that they pair some guy with a horny teenager and expect for something to not happen?"

"Because it's our duty. And not all of the Watchers were males, as you know."

As Wes pulled the SUV into the driveway and back to the garage, Faith scoped the place out. Giles showed them a small room off the garage that actually had running water, which was a plus. They could bed down in the room and put up the wards. The room was mostly bare, but they moved a small table inside with a rickety chair and put down sleeping bags on the floor. The one small light bulb reminded her a little of prison, but with Wes there, that thought was fleeting. And the biggest bonus was no baby slayers to watch or hear them.

"It's small," Wes pointed out.

"Big enough for the two of us."

"Thank you," Wes abruptly said.

Faith was a little perplexed by his words, because she didn't know what she had done right this time. She had done so many things wrong in her life, people rarely said thank you to her, ever.

"For what?" she hesitantly asked him.

"For not prying. For not trying to pull what happened out of me for the time being. It's complicated to say the least."

"Yeah, kind of figured that with your friend Fred here and all that stuff that happened back in LA that you'd need time to think."

"Yes. I do. It's not that I don't want to tell you," Wes told her as he placed his books on the table in an orderly fashion.

"I'm not exactly the easiest person to talk to," Faith added.

"On the contrary. You don't seem to judge. I appreciate that."

"Can't fuckin' judge when I've fucked up too many times to count."

"I've got to place the wards up now, before it gets dark. Are you sure about this? We could leave. Let them handle all this."

Like that would ever be a possibility. They were in it 'til the end. But he had given her the option. Now they were damned if they stayed and damned if they fled. Fuck, no one even asked her why she was out of prison. The group would have lots of questions for the two of them. She just didn't want the inquisition any time soon.

"Let them have all the fun? Nah. We stay. We fight. We fuckin' kick evil's ass. Then we can leave."

Faith watched as Wes' hand paused over the book he was reading. "We're in for a fight. You ready?"

"Hey, let's bring it on. I'm getting that itch that only slaying can scratch."

Wes found what he was looking for, so he left the book open and approached her slowly.

"I do believe that I have discovered other ways to deal with your itch."

"You wish," Faith kidded as Wes' hand came up to cup the side of her face. "We should clean up. I'm sure that they're waiting for some kind of explanation. Just don't shave. Makes you look all scruffy and fuckin' hot."

Wes blushed again. But he didn't take his hands off of her. "Maybe later?"

"Damn straight. I owe you for your little speech. Remember?"

"Vividly," Wes responded as he rubbed his shoulder a little.

"There are some things, you know, that we need to talk about. But it can wait."

Faith didn't want to get into any of it at the moment. She had issues and Wes had issues. They'd leave it at that. Wes warded the place as she threw the rest of their stuff into the corner.

"Ready?" Wes asked as he opened the door to their little hovel.

"Fuck yeah. Have my back?"

"Always."

TBC

Author notes: I really didn't intend to take the fic this far. But the muse just was in the driver's seat. So this is total AU now. I've rewritten both season seven of Buffy and season four of Angel. Go figure. Hope you liked. Hope that it won't be so long to the next posting. Please stick with it.


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